The Choices We Make
by Cpt.Tina
Summary: We make a lot of choices every day, but some choices are made for us. John knows that concept all too well. Still, someones choice from the past and a bad decision put him in a difficult situation during the work on a number.
1. Chapter 1

**Story:** We make a lot of choices every day, but some choices are made for us. John knows that concept all too well. Still, someones choice from the past and a bad decision put him in a difficult situation during the work on a number.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Bad Robot Productions, Kilter Films, Warner Bros. Television  
><strong>Author's note:<strong> This was supposed to be a small musing piece with a twist, but then Finch insisted there was a case and John wanted to tell something about his childhood. They changed the entire story. *g*  
><strong>Spoiler:<strong> Has hints at facts through most of S2, but nothing too specific after 2x05.  
><strong>Warning:<strong> Contains supernatural elements and is therefore AU, although otherwise it goes along with canon.  
><strong>Date:<strong> 16.07.2013 - 11.01.2014

* * *

><p><strong>The Choices We Make<strong>

PART 1

When Finch made it to the park, Bear by his side, their number was already there. Seventeen year old Kosuke Yoshioka was, as far as they could tell, a good boy. He had average grades and was dedicated to his dog and his hobby: Frisbee freestyle. His young black and white Border Collie 'Shelby' loved the colorful discs and together they were quite a team.

After unleashing Bear and telling him to 'go play', Finch observed the kid and his pet. Reese had been tailing the boy and had suggested they meet at the park when Kosuke had gotten his dog and discs after school. With Bear as a convenient cover they could stay close and inconspicuously make contact if need be.

So far though, there was no sign of Mr. Reese. Finch checked his cell for messages and when there were none, he tried calling his colleague, only to be met by the generic request to leave a voice mail. He didn't. Instead Finch shifted his focus towards the lawn.

Kosuke and Shelby were in good form and understood each other without the need for voiced commands. Hand gestures seemed enough to prompt Shelby into and entire chain of practiced moves. They had a flow to their performance that was stunning and made him just a little envious. Finch had brought a ball for Bear to fetch, but the Belgian Malinois had found furry playmates for the time being and didn't want or need his immediate attention. So Harold allowed his mind to drift for a moment.

Bear was always excited to go to the park, but more than that, he was usually more relaxed there. Not just because he could run and play, though. Obviously he took his duty very seriously, so time at the library was in a way 'work' for him. Boring guard work and mostly without surprises, but work nonetheless.

A lot had changed between them since they had met over a chewed first edition of Asimov. In the beginning, Bear had protected him on Reese's orders and had followed his tentative commands for the same reason. But then 'it' had beckoned him to play, to interact after the ordeal with Root and Harold had found himself bonding with the animal. Bear had become the embodiment of safety and companionship. The dog never asked questions and it never demanded more from Finch than he could give.

He clearly was still Reese's dog though - no matter who spent more time with him, spent more time caring for him. Because there were some patterns, certain behaviors Bear only displayed towards or around Reese. Obviously the dog saw his partner as the pack leader and quite frankly Finch didn't mind. Reese had stopped being a mere employee a long time ago and had become one of his few real friends. Luckily, they had both no need or patience for hierarchic battles, but enjoyed them in a teasing manner nonetheless.

Finch knew, that the dog needed an experienced and confident handler. Bear took his cues now too and had even learned English commands, but that wasn't quite enough. Finch couldn't provide the exercise the working dog needed and he certainly couldn't provide the strictness Bear was used to. More often than not he tended to spoil the animal. The squeaky toy had only been one thing in a long list of indulgences.

When Finch glanced around to see if he could spot Reese, he noticed the crowd in the park had been building beyond his immediate line of sight. Many people had obviously decided, that a sunny evening was the perfect opportunity for some fresh air.

"Shell!"

For some reason the shout caught Harold's attention, before he even realized how relevant it was. Clearly it had been aimed at Shelby - the number's dog - who was trying to catch a too highly thrown Frisbee. If there hadn't been someone in her path, if she'd had more space, she would very likely have made the catch. Given the circumstances though, she stood no chance. She jumped and stretched, but when she came back down the disc was still flying right towards a woman's head.

Finch got up in alarm. Not that Kosuke was likely in immediate danger because of this, but enraged people were unpredictable. Enraged people with dogs even more so.

A tan colored flash from the left caught his eye, joined by one from the right and then time seemed to slow down. He recognized Bear on one side of Shelby lifting off the ground, while on the opposite side a German Shepherd had likewise jumped.

The unknown dog reached the apex first and snatched the disc with ease, before twisting its canine body to both, land on its feet and avoid Bear. Those actions lessened the impact, but the Shepherd and Bear still crashed down in a tangle of furry limbs and long tails.

Finch worriedly limped closer, as they sorted out their paws. He could see by their easy movements that neither dog appeared to have suffered injury, but they were clearly wary of each other. A tense atmosphere surrounded the three canines. Too tense for a fearful Shelby who had hidden behind her master, tail literally tucked between her legs.  
>The two remaining dogs were her polar opposites, locked in a staring match with their tails confidently upright. Bear appeared confused though, torn between friendly and aggressive behavior, his ears twitching back and forth.<p>

The situation was too complex for Finch's limited understanding of canine social behavior. However, when Bear suddenly started barking and jumped around the German Shepherd like mad, his discomfort turned to alarm. Kosuke must have seen that, because he intervened. Not by influencing the dogs, but by influencing his fellow handler.

"It's okay." he said, before Finch could voice a command. "He's just very happy and wants to play with him."

It sounded placating and ridiculous, but when Finch looked back at the dogs it rang true. He could see Bear in his mind's eye at another time and place, tail wagging furiously as he literally bowled over his master in his sheer joy at their reunion.

Somehow all three dogs ended up sitting expectantly in front of Kosuke, waiting for the disc to be thrown. Finch, with the tiniest hint of a smile, moved back to sit on a bench then. He watched them playing peacefully and noted with some amusement, how lucky they were that the boy had brought so many Frisbees for his training. There were enough to keep all three dogs running back and forth almost non-stop.

So, with the boy in safe company Harold tried Reese's cell again, but it went straight to voice mail once more. When he turned it on remotely and tracked it via GPS he got a location nearby. Finch knew there were any number of reasons why Reese would be unwilling or indeed unable to answer his phone during an operation. Unfortunately, many of those reasons where most troubling though, because they involved being captured, physically injured or both.

Suddenly a shot rang out and Finch found himself back on his feet in alarm, the GPS signal forgotten. As fast as he could, he limped towards Kosuke on the ground. There was no time to spare, he had to get the boy to safety immediately, even if it meant whisking him away single-handedly.

A moment before he could call the speed dial for his personal ambulance - an arrangement made after the CIA's almost fatal hit on Reese - he realized it wasn't Kosuke that was hurt. There was no blood to be seen on his bright yellow t-shirt, and though he appeared shocked, his features didn't show any pain. The boy was half trapped underneath the German Shepherd however, who was unusually still. The dog's eyes were closed and the bloody spot visible in the lighter colored fur was slowly expanding.

It laid still for so long, that Bear eventually prodded the fellow canine softly with his nose. At that the Shepherd's eyes flew open and he staggered to his feet with a low growl to stare at Bear. Then he looked around however, scented the air and dashed towards and into some bushes at the edge of the lawn, as fast as the injury allowed.

Finch could relate, wanted to run and hide too, but forced himself to remain calm. He would have preferred to help the wounded dog, but knew he stood no chance of catching up to it, much less of actually catching it. So instead he focused back on Kosuke.

"This is Bear and you can call me Harold." he told the confused boy, that had just gotten to his feet. "You're in danger, Mr. Yoshioka. We're here to help, but you'll have to come with us."

The youth looked at him with a strange expression on his face. Finch couldn't tell whether it was fear or confusion or maybe a mixture of the two. Then the boy glanced around at the chaos that had befallen everyone in the park. People were screaming, hiding or running. Some dogs were barking or covering, others were tugging on their leashes trying to get away. It was madness.

"Please, Mr. Yoshioka." Finch urged. "We need to move, now."

Kosuke hesitated a moment longer. Finch wondered if he was thinking about the universal parent advice about not going anywhere with strangers. He'd never heard about it being mentioned in conjunction with shots fired, but of course the boy had every right to be suspicious of him. Of someone that wanted him to leave the park before the police showed up.

Finch moved a few steps into the direction of his car, hoping it would spur the young man into action. But Bear didn't move with him, didn't join him in the heel position as usual. When Finch glanced back, Kosuke was looking from him, to Bear and back. He was likely assessing both their behavior and Finch wondered where that would lead.

Surely, the boy wouldn't see him as a threat, especially not with the heavy limp. He might also not consider him a very good handler, seeing as 'his' dog had just more or less disobeyed him. But would it hinder his efforts to get the young man to trust him?

At that moment, Kosuke offered the back of his hand for Bear to sniff. They'd played together before, but Finch realized the boy had never actually approached or touched the dog. Rather Bear had approached the Shepherd, Shelby and him. Now though, after getting sniffed, Kosuke reached out to stroke Bear under the chin and down the back.

Bear let him do that for a short while, but then he actually started to nudge the boy with his nose. He also began to nudge Shelby in Finch's direction. Kosuke looked at him then, and shrugged before he joined Finch. And all the way to the car, Bear moved around the two of them and an unsettled Shelby, guiding and guarding them.

* * *

><p>John was no stranger to being tranquilized and wounded, but it still took him a while to get the world to stop spinning and to fight the sickness threatening to overwhelm him. Whatever he'd been given was a real doozy. He felt confused and dizzy and his vision was blurry. It also took incredible concentration to move and when he managed it, every motion was slow and clumsy despite his best efforts.<p>

From the residual pain and the bandage around his stomach he figured he'd been hurt and when he stretched experimentally the skin felt uncomfortably tight, suggesting he'd gotten stitches. Great. Another wound to add to his extensive collection. Most disconcerting though was the fact, that he couldn't remember how he'd been injured, how he'd gotten to where he was or how much time had passed since then.

John heaved himself to his feet with some difficulty, leaning against the cage he was trapped in for support. It was obviously made of sturdy metal and whilst it afforded some space it was still too small for comfort. He wondered, not for the first time, how people could confine pets in those things - how they could confine other people inside them. A flash in his mind's eye showed a different cage, on sandy ground and in glaring sunlight. A human figure was in it, sweating profusely, soaking tattered clothes while it's parched lips missed every drop.

He shook the memory off - literally. This was neither the time nor the place to remember. He had to keep the boy safe. Had to find out what had happened to him and his dog, to Finch and Bear. But first he needed to determine where he himself had ended up. At a kennel? There were other identical cages in the rest of the room, some of them with dogs in them.

He remembered being at the park, watching someone keeping an eye on Kosuke and Shelby as well. Had that person been the threat? Had that person overpowered him at the park and brought him to his place of work? Or was the one who'd fired the shot maybe a dog breeder and this was his private property? A breeder desperate enough for the disc dog championship to kill his competition?

The thoughts were difficult to grasp and hopelessly out of context, because he still couldn't remember much of anything. The harder John concentrated, the more they eluded him, slipped through his fingers.

Instead he remembered himself being nine years old in Central Park during a summer break visit to his grandparents. He'd loved the city already back then, so different from the rural life in Puyallup, Washington. But he'd also been big enough to know about its dangers.

A man carrying a leash had been asking around for his dog. He'd asked everyone; men, women and children. Only by chance had John heard that the question he'd asked one girl was different. She'd agreed to help find the dog and had left with the man. Acting on pure instinct, knowing more than just intellectually that something was wrong, John had followed them into the cover of some trees. He remembered trying to pull the attacker off the girl, the glint of a knife and blinding pain. Remembered hearing the other kid scream and run. A dog had barked in alarm nearby, followed by something like the sound of thunder, a man's scream of terror and the noise of tearing flesh. And suddenly a dog had loomed above him, a dark brown terrier, it's fur painted red with blood.

**- to be continued -**


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

Finch had walked through the park, barely lifting his eyes off the unmoving dot of the GPS indicator on his phone.

Kosuke, his parents and his dog were out of harms way at one of his safe houses, with Carter as their protection, because he hadn't heard from Reese since the attack. It wasn't like his partner to ignore calls and he surely wasn't the type to ditch his duties, especially not without any notification. So, knowing Reese as being kind of reckless, Finch had figured the man was most likely in trouble and possibly needed help.

He'd cut things short with the Yoshiokas because of that. As soon as he had finished explaining the situation - or at least as much of it as he felt it was prudent to tell them - he'd left them in Carter's care. Then he had returned to Central Park to track Reese's cellphone. He'd found the general location pretty easily, but with the GPS's limited accuracy it had taken him almost ten minutes to discover the phone itself. It had been hidden among a neat stack of Reese's belongings in a tree's forked branch above his immediate line of sight.

Now back at the library, Finch looked puzzled at his spread out findings.

The fully functional phone and Reese's gun were surprising. He couldn't see the younger man part with either of these things lightly, though there were no doubt situations were it could be beneficial to do so. The black suit and shoes, the white shirt, the underwear and socks were not really understandable however. What circumstances could possibly prompt the ex-agent to abandon his entire wardrobe? The man only worked in real disguise when necessary after all, preferring his 'man in the suit' attire.

More surprising than the cellphone's pristine condition and the things themselves though, was the area he'd found the items in. It was a patch of underbrush, right behind the lawn the dogs had been playing on earlier.

With a frown Finch moved the things aside, to access his computer.

He'd done a search on German Shepherds in NYC, but even with limiting it to Manhattan or to a reasonable area around the park, there were still too many registered dogs. So he rather turned his attention to whatever video he could get of the location around the time of the shooting.

Finding Reese entering the park was easy. He'd followed Kosuke and Shelby and had done an initial canvas of the location. After that, Reese had watched them for a while, before he had gone for another round, vanishing into the underbrush - likely to check for hidden threats.

Finch watched the entire footage, the different feeds running simultaneously, spread out over all his screens. He saw the training again, Bear's dramatic collision, himself sitting back down after the situation had been resolved and of course the confusion when the shot had been fired.

During all of that and even in the aftermath - when he'd led Kosuke and Shelby away - he could find no glimpse of Reese, though. When he re-watched everything, he therefore paid attention to what had happened apart from the center stage. He made sure to check any other happenstances that seemed noteworthy, even if they had no connection to Kosuke, Shelby or the shot. Finch looked into everything that had gone on at the park at that time, but still failed to find any indication as to Reese's whereabouts.

There was no footage of the shooter either.

* * *

><p>When John awoke the next time, he still felt disoriented and not quite like himself. The effects of whatever he'd been given were slowly waning off, though. There was food and water waiting for him, but he surely wasn't going to touch either. He didn't really need it yet and both was likely drugged. And whilst the sedative had helped him dissociate from the pain so far, it would be counterproductive to any escape attempt.<p>

He couldn't remember falling asleep, just like he couldn't remember being drugged or injured. That was a bad sign, a clear indicator that the pharmaceuticals were working and that he really needed to get away, to disappear. He didn't know where exactly he would be safe, but anywhere was going to be better than locked into a cage. Once free and away from his obscure enemies, he could ponder the best hiding place, hopefully with more recollections to aid him.

He remembered Finch, could clearly picture the man in his mind along with Bear. He was quite sure that Finch - 'Harold' - was his boss and that together they helped people. They had met under the Queensboro Bridge seemingly ages ago and had assisted quite some 'numbers' - people - since then. His memory was fuzzy on the details, though. Where they lived, where they worked, how they knew who was in trouble...

The door opened in that moment and diverted his attention. A middle aged man was standing there, looking into the room. He seemed vaguely familiar as he glanced over the dogs, then focused on John.

He'd definitely seen that man before.

When the door closed behind the stranger with a resounding thud, John could hear the shot at the park in his mind again. And suddenly the memory was back.

He'd been keeping an eye on Kosuke and Shelby. He'd seen that man keep an eye on them too. He'd spotted Finch and Bear in the crowd. He remembered checking the surroundings for threats, remembered Shelby and Bear playing until a shot had been fired. He'd run in the direction of where it must have come from then, right into some bushes, ready to apprehend the gunman.

He'd been met by an abandoned rifle, though. An abandoned rifle and a dog barking at him in alarm.

It had been a nice dog, a Rough Collie like 'Lassie', a beautiful female obviously listening to the name of 'Danielle'. She had barked at him until her owner had appeared, the guy that had just been standing in the door. He'd maneuvered John into his van.

They'd taken a trip, which he'd spent locked up in a dog cage in the back, right besides the cage of the Collie. She had barked at him during the entire ride and her protests had followed him into oblivion when the sedative of the injection he'd been given had claimed his senses.

He had no idea where he'd been brought, but now he could clearly remember the van and its license plate.

* * *

><p>Finch had checked on Kosuke and his family, now under Fusco's protection. When he'd been convinced that they were fine, he'd returned to the library to continue his investigation.<p>

Bear had proven to be a challenge to his concentration, though. He'd kept dancing around nervously besides the desk, every so often taking a covert sniff of his masters scent from Reese's things still lying where he'd left them. Finch hadn't even moved the gun. He'd kept the pile of belongings in his sight, as a silent reminder of what was missing.

Of course though, Reese wasn't the only one he was trying to find.

Finch hastened to finish his modifications on a facial recognition algorithm, to enable it to catalog and match canine fur patterns. Then he started it on the mysterious dog from the park, while also starting a normal facial recognition search on the humans in the footage from the shooting.

Carter was running things on the side of the NYPD. She'd reported not too long ago, that whilst they had found a rifle with fingerprints and DNA, there hadn't been a fingerprint match in their databases. Finch himself, with a larger pool of data at his hands, hadn't been successful either. Their shooter apparently wasn't in the system.

Preliminary DNA tests indicated however, that they were looking for a woman.

When there was nothing else he could do at the library, Finch eventually relented and took Bear back to the scene. Once there, the dog needed little incentive to search for his master. A simple 'find Reese', and Bear was off, dragging Finch along.

They retraced Reese's initial canvas of the area, vanished into the same cluster of bushes he had disappeared into and Bear even barked and scratched at the tree Reese's stuff had been hidden on.

From there he ran straight out onto the lawn though, zigzagged for a while, hesitated in the spot the Shepherd had been shot in and then apparently got confused. Because from that point on, Finch was sure Bear followed the other dog's route, which led him directly into the underbrush it had run into to hide.

Bear went back to that route, again and again, every time Finch tried to get him on Reese's trail once more. So eventually, Finch gave up on trying to have the ex-military dog do what he wanted. Even if Bear couldn't or wouldn't lead him to Reese, he might at least find out more about the fate of the other dog.

Their new scent meant that Bear circled inside some bushes for quite a while, which was interesting, because they were roped-off with police tape and likely the place the NYPD had found the rifle. After that, he steered Finch out of the park and up the street. They moved for maybe half a block, before Bear sat down in front of a parking spot and started barking at a red and black Daimler Smart.

Finch sighed.

That was not at all the conclusion he'd expected or hoped for.

**- to be continued -**


	3. Chapter 3

PART 3

John had often wondered about who he was and if he'd done the world any good.

Before Finch had found him, he'd spent most of his alcohol induced stupors with musings like that and recollections of the horrors of his past. Right now though, waiting for the effects of the narcotic to lessen even further, he was trying to figure out his current alias. But he still had trouble with focusing.

There was another alias invading his thoughts. A man he'd called 'Major Brown', for lack of any real name.

It had been after the knife wound, after waking up in hospital with his Mom, his grandparents and the police there. They'd taken his statement and had told him the girl was fine. That the man that had attacked her and had injured him was dead, killed by a dog they assumed had been his own. A brown terrier people had seen running away.

He'd told them he remembered getting bitten as well, had even ripped off the bandage on his arm to show them the bite mark, when they hadn't seemed to believe him. But he'd still had the feeling they thought he was making stuff up. He himself hadn't been sure about everything. The dog had bitten him after it had killed the bad guy, after he'd already been on the ground bleeding from the knife wound. It hadn't made sense.

An older man had come to his room later that evening, when he'd been left alone for the night. He'd been dressed casually in jeans and a shirt, but John had immediately pecked him as military, simply by his gait and the way he'd held himself.

"Is everything alright with my Dad?" he'd asked the stranger.

"I don't know. I'm not working with your father." he'd been told. "I'm here for you."

John had been scared, of course. He'd known all the stories his Dad had told him about his fellow soldiers. How lean and mean they were. How they could kill a man in the blink of an eye. He'd wondered if that was probably a buddy of the guy at the park, there for revenge - come to kill him for good.

"I'm sorry about the bite." the soldier had told him instead, indicating the re-bandaged wound. "What you did at the park was a brave thing, kid. Not many would have done the same, not even grown men. You risked your life for a stranger - that's a very rare quality."

John had looked away embarrassed then. He hadn't expected praise. Hadn't been used to it.

His father had taught him, that doing one's duty was a necessity, not an option. It was nothing to be proud of, nothing to boast about. It was what you did to keep yourself and others safe. Nothing more and nothing less. He wasn't about to tell that to the stranger, though.

"It was your dog that killed him." he'd said instead, a statement more than a question.

The man had looked at him strangely for a moment.

"They didn't tell you how close you came to dying, did they?" he'd asked, avoiding the question. "It was a miracle you survived with as much blood as you lost before they could stabilize you. If you hadn't been bitten, you'd be dead now."

John had furrowed his brow at that. He'd been only nine at that point, but he hadn't been stupid. He'd known very well, that super heroes didn't exist. There was no such thing as a magical spider bite - or dog bite - that could make someone invincible. It had been the reason, why he'd never liked comic books.

"You're crazy." he'd told the man and had reached for the call button.

He'd never had the chance to press it though, because the next moment a dog had been on his bed, standing above him. An AmStaff, a dark brown and white terrier - the dog from the park.

* * *

><p>The red and black Smart belonged to a 22 year old student at NYU, a girl who was obviously unrelated to their case. She hadn't been in the park that day, didn't own a dog and her fingerprints weren't a match to those found on the rifle.<p>

Not that Finch had really thought they would.

He'd checked the camera footage for video on the bushes the rifle had been found in and fired from, but that was a convenient blind spot. The shooter had obviously done her homework.

Finch had queued the feed from the nearby walkway for analysis in his software, then he'd surveyed the video from the parking spot Bear had barked at. Looking at the 24 hours before and after the shooting had been long and tedious work, although he had only checked the women and done minimalistic investigations into their background.

All it had gotten him in the end was nothing.

Feeding that video to the facial and fur recognition software had been a long shot at best and nothing more than a sign of his customary precision. He hadn't really hoped for any actionable results.

But then, just as a match to the German Shepherd from the park popped up, the phone rang.

"Finch."

It was the well-known voice of his partner.

"John, where the hell have you..."

But he didn't get to finish his sentence.

"Are Kosuke and Shelby safe?" Reese asked urgently.

"Yes. The boy and his entire family - including the dog - are at the safe house in Brooklyn Heights."

"What about you and Bear?" Reese wanted to know.

Finch was inclined to tell his colleague they could have used his actual help much better than inquiries afterwards, but it would have been an annoyed response at best and a rude rebuke at worst. And so far, he didn't know if Reese deserved either.

"We are fine." he therefore replied, with a patience he didn't really feel.

He wondered for a moment what bothered him about Reese's call. He'd heard the other man in a dozen different situations, but never had he spoken so slowly and pronounced his words so clearly. Had someone gotten to Reese again? Or was it possible, that it was a sophisticated computerized voice reproduction, created to mislead?

Finch knew that if either was the case, every second on the phone was potentially dangerous for him.

"Good." Reese just said, apparently oblivious to Finch's doubt of his authenticity. He sounded sincerely relieved. "Because I lost our shooter - I might have a lead though. A midnight blue VW van, license plate 512 Tango..."

"Charlie Oscar." Finch finished.

He was staring at the video footage of the van in question, standing in the spot Bear had barked at earlier. A man had loaded the wounded Shepherd from the park into the vehicle. Another dog, maybe the man's, had been barking continuously. No woman had been with them or in the car.

"I don't know how you knew that Finch, but yes. I need all information you can get me on the driver. Middle aged man, 5'8", dark brown shoulder length hair and green eyes. Get me everything you can on his dog as well. That's a Rough Collie, likely a female named 'Danielle'."

It felt like business as usual, but Finch was still suspicious. Something about this case wasn't right - hadn't been right from the start. Before he could inquire though, Reese had hung up with an "I'll be at the library in forty minutes."

At least the time he'd given was consistent with how long it would take him to get there.

* * *

><p>John was grateful for the stash kits he'd placed all over the city.<p>

What he had stolen at the kennel he'd been imprisoned in had been sufficient to get away, but he wasn't going to show up at the library like that. Finch was a stickler for tidiness and John would be damned if he faced him in less than his customary suit. Not wearing a tie and keeping the top buttons undone, was as much of an everyday provocation as he allowed himself. Which was why he'd made a pit stop at the closest kit to get back into a suit and fetch himself a weapon.

Sure, Finch had seen him at his worst, had even driven around in a limousine with him when he'd been nothing but another filthy, homeless drunk. But that had been different. John hadn't cared about much back then, surely not about his attire.

With the job he'd been given, that had changed. He had money again and a purpose, he had work he needed to be able to 'blend in' for. Finch paid him well, more generously than necessary. He paid him, although John owed him his life many times over. He paid him for something that he would readily do in exchange for the actual expenses - or less.

His father would have turned around in his grave at that, just like he would have, if he'd known what had really been done to him that day he'd been injured when was nine.

But he hadn't known.

Nobody ever had. Not his mother, not his friends, not the Army and surely not the CIA. Hell, he hadn't even told Jessica. He might have eventually, if things had turned out differently. But they hadn't. So, as far as John could tell, no-one ever knew.

Except 'Major Brown' of course.

At nine years old and with a recently stitched up stomach, he'd been scared to death by the 60 pounds of dog above him. Not that he would have been less scared without the injury, but knowing that he'd been confined to the bed had made it even worse. He'd been frozen in panic, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

John had grown up around animals. Intellectually he had known that the dog's body language hadn't been aggressive in any way. It had been panting, wagging its tail, friendly and playful. But he'd still been afraid, instinct overriding any knowledge.

But there had been more to his fear.

He'd felt nauseous all of a sudden and had had trouble with his eyesight, even as he had felt the hairs on the back of his neck spread, as if growing. His senses had sharpened then, dozens of sounds and smells assaulting him, even as his sight stayed washed out in yellow, blue and gray. Then his body had felt as if shrinking in on itself, his skin suddenly too big around him, before everything had expanded again and shaped itself into a new form.

John remembered lying there then, a dog complete with four legs, fur and a tail. His only thought had been 'I was wrong'. Maybe superheros did exist too?

The dog above him had eventually jumped off the bed, and he'd watched it as it had dragged the stranger's duffel to the bathroom. It had been then that he'd realized the man *was* the dog. The man - the dog he could change into - they had killed the bad guy at the park and had bitten him. They'd turned him into whatever it was he was now.

"Being what we are means being stronger and faster, having a better sense of smell and hearing and better healing power." the man had told him, when they'd both been human and dressed again. "As dogs we have enhanced night vision, but are pretty much color blind. And, we are harder to kill, albeit not invincible. It's why I bit you. To save your life."

John had listened quietly, still paralyzed by what he'd just experienced.

"Am I a shifter?"

"No, not really. We are 'skinwalkers', part human and part animal all the time. Shifters learn other shapes by touch and change into them by shedding their old forms. We only shed our clothing or get dressed again."

"What about the full moon?"

"Doesn't matter." The stranger had shrugged his shoulders. "You change whenever you want to, it's your own choice. If you bite someone however, they'll be infected too - almost instantly. And there's no cure for this curse."

He'd never been a golden boy to begin with, but that day he'd become a part of the darkness, long before the darkness had become a part of him.

**- to be continued -**


	4. Chapter 4

PART 4

When Reese stepped onto the landing at the library, Finch stopped his work to scrutinize him. He was obviously wearing a fresh suit and seemed none the worse for wear.

Bear had jumped up from his bed at the first sight of his Alpha and had bounded towards Reese, who - in anticipation of what was to come - had gone down on his knees. Finch would normally have just assumed it was a precaution to prevent being knocked over, but Reese was moving more slowly than usual and seemed to be shielding his side specifically. So, there was a strong probability that he'd been injured in whatever had kept him from assisting their current number.

Bear yelped and whined and licked Reese's hands, his tail wagging furiously, while Reese stroked him under the chin and down the back and scratched his ears affectionately. The dog was clearly ecstatic to see his master and Reese seemed happy at the warm welcome, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's good to have you back, Mr. Reese." Finch finally told him, when the overjoyed welcome had almost died down.

Reese straightened at that. He was exceptionally good at hiding injuries, but Finch had had more than enough opportunities to observe him, as to be pretty sure in his assessment. If he could tell the man was injured, it had to be more than just 'a scratch', and Reese even referred to non-lethal bullet wounds like that.

"It's good to *be* back." Reese told him, as he walked over to the table, while Bear returned to lie on his bed.

Without further comment, Reese took the watch and wallet from the pile of his belongings. He also checked the gun, but didn't take it. Finch doubted Reese would be forthcoming about what had happened and he surely wouldn't admit to the injury without being prompted, so he took the three photographs from the table and stood up.

Taping them to the cracked glass divider, he started to brief his colleague.

"The van is registered to a man named Stephen Carlyle. He was born in Connecticut, but has lived here ever since he got his law degree. He purchased the car a few years ago, when he fell very sick, right around the time he also acquired his dog. 'Danielle' used to be a stray in his neighborhood, but got injured one winter. He took her in and nursed her back to health - and himself along with her. Apparently she helped him defeat the cancer."

Reese had walked over to the glass and was looking at the pictures.

"He's quit his job to work at a kennel near Central Park afterwards and has recently been promoted to an executive position. His connection to Kosuke is not work related, however. Apparently he also trains for and participates in the Disc Dog Nationals. He seems a promising candidate, but has so far never won 1st place."

Reese seemed hesitant when he faced him.

"That might be the motive, Finch." he agreed. "But what about means? We know the shooter was a woman."

Finch narrowed his eyes, communicating clearly, that he didn't appreciate being reminded as if he were stupid. It was clearly interesting to see that Reese already knew that piece of information, though.

"He doesn't own any registered guns, doesn't seem to associate with suspicious characters and lives in a small apartment in a reasonably reputable neighborhood."

Finch paused.

"He does have a girlfriend, though." he remarked, pointing to the third picture he'd taped to the glass. "Elaine Sumner."

Reese turned back to the glass and studied the image of the woman for a moment.

"Could be our shooter." he said after a moment. "Although I can't say if she was at the park. I'll go see if I can track her down, ask her a few questions."

Finch nodded his consent.

"I'll follow up our other lead with Carlyle then." he explained. "The man he appears to have become should be concerned about our missing, wounded dog."

* * *

><p>"Mr. Carlyle?" Finch asked, finding the man he'd been looking for at a window in the front room of the boarding kennel.<p>

"I'm Colbert Smith with Animal Care and Control."

They shook hands and then he followed the executive to his small office, which had a large window overlooking the outside areas for the dogs.

"I was contacted by the NYPD regarding a German Shepherd that you reported you had found with a bullet wound in Central Park the other day."

Carlyle nodded.

"My dog found him in some bushes in Central Park after a shot had been fired. I didn't call the AC&C, because this place is pretty close and I have a vet on call 24/7 to ensure the health of my clients' dogs. She removed the bullet and made sure the dog was otherwise healthy. She also filled out all the necessary documents and we both reported the incident at the local precinct, handing the evidence over to them."

Finch took some notes on the pad he'd brought, more for appearances than truly for his memory.

"What condition was the dog in when you found it?"

Stephen Carlyle took a moment to sort his thoughts, it seemed. If he was bothered about having to relay the information again, he didn't show it.

"He was up and about, but limping badly. His reactions where normal for the most part, although slowed down by the injury and the pain. He was aware enough to keep a close eye on my dog barking at him to alert me. His fur was bloody on the right side."

The man paused in his explanation for a moment, his eyes tracking some dogs playing outside.

"He didn't bark or anything, but showed clear signs of wariness and even fear when I approached him. As you know, animals can get aggressive when injured, especially when they are afraid. I did my best to calm him, and he let me pick him up without so much as snapping at me. Although, quite frankly, that was a miracle, because for once my dog Danielle didn't help. She just kept barking and I could not get her to stop."

Finch nodded and took some more notes. A few of those things he had already seen in the piece of video footage that he had of the rescue. The rest was, what must have happened somewhere outside the range of the security cameras.

"I'll need a copy of all the documents you compiled and gave to the NYPD. It would also help if I could talk to the veterinarian that did the surgery and basic checkup."

"Of course." Carlyle replied. He went to a filing cabinet along the wall and pulled out a thin file, then started copying a handful of papers, before he clipped them together and offered them to Finch.

"Thank you." Finch said, accepting the documents. "I'll also need to see the dog myself."

At that, Carlyle obviously hesitated.

"That's another matter I reported to the local cops." he finally disclosed. "The dog apparently went missing last night, along with quite a few possessions belonging to employees here at the kennel. I have no explanation on how that could have happened. I was here at the time and didn't see or hear anything unusual."

Finch frowned. It was a very *unusual* coincidence indeed, especially considering the circumstances in which the dog had been injured. However, he could not quite comprehend how stealing the dog from the kennel could benefit the shooter in any way - unless of course it had been her dog and she had hit it accidentally. Maybe it had been sent to attack Kosuke? But then, he himself had been at the park and had seen the German Shepherd. There had been no sign whatsoever, that it had been set on Kosuke or that it had been commanded by someone at the park. Coming to think of it, it had not worn a collar or a license tag.

Carlyle was forthcoming enough to show him to the 'holding area', a room with a couple of cages in it, which were laid out with blankets or towels. Only a handful of dogs were in there. To Finch, it looked more like a room out of a shelter than a moderately priced boarding kennel.

"It's the perfect room for sick or very fearful dogs." the executive explained, at his no doubt disapproving look. "It's quiet and we can monitor and control the temperature perfectly. The skylight provides natural lighting, without giving them possible upsetting visuals of other dogs playing or training. We've already cleaned the cage the German Shepherd was in, of course."

For a moment, Finch imagined Bear in one of these cages.

Granted, they were spacious, but he could not imagine how any living creature could feel happy in there. Although he could see the point of keeping these dogs apart from the rest. Especially when the remainder of his tour surprised him positively with truly big rooms, interesting toys, extensive outside dog runs including various shelters and obstacles as well as very active and sometimes loud dogs playing, eating, napping or training.

His talk with the veterinarian was short and dominated by medical terminology. He could gather the bullet had hit the right stomach area, but hadn't injured any internal organs.

On his way out, Finch finally encountered Danielle. She was just being brought back from a walk by an employee at the kennel, when they stepped out of the building. She barked as soon as the door opened, her reaction to him forceful and immediate.

* * *

><p>"Finch, you there?"<p>

John had flicked on his earpiece, while keeping an eye on the front door of the school from his car.

"Yes, Mr. Reese."

Finch sounded suspiciously breathless and for some reason John doubted that this time he'd been exercising.

"Are you alright, Finch?"

A moment passed in silence.

"I guess I understand now why they say 'the bark's worse than the bite'." Finch eventually remarked drily. "I just had a highly unpleasant encounter with Danielle, our kennel executive's dog."

John froze for a moment, fear traveling down his spine, turning his eyes cold and hard.

"She bit you?"

If she had, if he was right with his suspicion...

"No, no." Finch hastened to clarify. "Not quite *that* unpleasant, Mr. Reese. But she kept barking at me even as I drove off. Quite frankly, I'm surprised she's allowed to stay at the kennel, least of all allowed to participate in any competitions."

John slowly let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Did he tell you anything?" he asked, forcing himself to calm down again.

"Mister Carlyle made a very honest impression." Finch relayed. "Apparently he has reported everything to the local police, but they've been sitting on the evidence since."

John frowned. "Everything?"

"Well, additionally to an injured dog, they also lost some valuables and possessions, which belonged to kennel personnel."

"All in less than a day?" John remarked, half joking, masking the effect of his small grin with the statement.

"Indeed." Finch's reply was dry. He obviously did not share John's amusement on the subject. "I'll get the Detectives on it."

Taking a deep breath, John recovered his professionalism.

"Okay, Finch. His girlfriend should be out of class in a few minutes. I'll head back as soon as I'm done talking to her."

Getting slowly out of his car, John flicked off the ear piece.

He'd been scared there for a moment, positive he'd made the wrong call. That Carlyle had been behind it all along and that he'd set his dog on Finch because he'd asked too many questions. The other alternative he could see was worse though. So much in fact, that he killed the thought before it could fully form.

Finch wasn't like him. He'd have told him if he'd been injured. He would never keep important information concerning their cases from him - not if it meant endangering someone. So it truly had to have been the incessant barking that had gotten Finch rattled. It was possible, he figured, seeing as Danielle seemed to be a very vocal dog. She could be pretty insistent, as he'd experienced first hand himself.

Smoothing the crinkles from his suit, John walked over to the entrance of the grade school, to head off Carlyle's girlfriend.

At the ring of the bell, young kids streamed out of the various classrooms. He stayed out of their way and waited until things had died down a bit. Then he approached Elaine Sumner's schoolroom.

The woman was at her desk, engaged in a conversation with a young girl.

"I'm afraid to take Lucky to the park." the kid just said, shyly.

"It's okay, Tessa. We all are afraid. I'm sure your Mom's afraid too, but Lucky does need fresh air and playtime, just like you do. He's going to get sad and maybe even sick if he has to stay inside all day."

The girl's eyes widened.

"I don't want that, Ms. Sumner." she said quietly.

Elaine put a hand on the kids shoulder for a moment. "I know that, honey. Now, run along. Cuddle Lucky when you get home and maybe you can ask your Mom to take the two of you to another park."

Tessa's eyes lit up at the suggestion.

"Thanks!" she squealed and then raced out the door, without giving John so much as a glance.

He gritted his teeth, but did his best not to let the anger show on his features. If he hadn't changed, if he'd seen the danger earlier, the girl and lots of other people wouldn't need to be scared now.

"I'm sure Lucky will appreciate the effort." he remarked, moving farther into the classroom. "You made a very inspiring argument there."

Sumner looked up. "It's quite true." she told him. "Mister... ?"

"Stills." he said, producing the gold shield from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Detective Stills, actually. Is there any place where we can talk in private?"

**- to be continued -**


	5. Chapter 5

PART 5

Finch couldn't shake his unease about their current case.

He'd taken Bear out for a short walk after his return from the kennel, as much as a treat to the animal as for himself. But the exercise hadn't done his troubled thoughts any good. His mind kept turning in circles, stuck with the facts and without any new ideas.

He had called Detective Carter earlier, to inform her about the evidence wasting away at the precinct and to ask her to put a rush on the comparison for the bullet. For once, she had been quite accommodating, likely because her superiors were pressuring her for evidence that Kosuke was in fact in danger. But that was something he would let her worry about.

Finch himself was more concerned about what those results would eventually tell them.

It was quite possible, that the rifle had been a diversion. It had confused them from the start and had heavily influenced their investigation. They had been looking for a woman, were actually still doing so. And all the while, the perpetrator was free to roam and was maybe even right in front of their eyes.

Disregarding the fingerprints and preliminary DNA results, they had basically nothing at all. Their shooter could have been anyone out of a thousand people in the park that evening.

Finch sighed and massaged his temples for a moment.

The evidence had to be there. It *was* there. He just needed to put it together in the correct way.

Finch couldn't do anything about the bullet match for the time being, so he acquired the case files on both, the injured German Shepherd and the robbery at the boarding kennel. After comparing the documents to the copies he had gotten from Carlyle, to make sure they were identical, he went over all of it.

The general checkup the veterinarian had done, had shown a very healthy and well cared for dog. It corroborated what he had seen with his own eyes at the park, but did not quite fit the fact, that the animal had worn no identification. Somebody with a dog like that, one would think, might be bothered about it getting stolen or lost. Especially considering, that it hadn't been neutered and that intact males were known to escape and roam in their drive for females.

The dog had not had an RFID chip with identification either. They had scanned for it.

As for the robbery, Finch was even more puzzled about that. The list of things that had gone missing included a backpack, clothes, cellphones, money, credit and debit cards, jewelery, watches, keys and a car as well as various dog medications and equipment. And possibly also the unidentified dog, although that was a debatable point.

Frustrated, Finch got up and moved to the closest window. Something didn't quite fit, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

A lot had been stolen in little time, most things moderately valuable. A few stood out as practically worthless, though. That could hint at either an amateur thief, a very smart one covering his or her intentions, or at a pattern he hadn't found yet. And the missing animal only made things more complicated. There had been a dozen dogs at the kennel that night, including a high value agility champion. Who would steal a badly wounded animal under those circumstances?

Finch dragged a hand over his face and went back to his desk.

It looked like a long day was ahead of him and even Bear's compassionate head on his knee couldn't quite ease the pressure.

* * *

><p>Miss Sumner had directed him to the teachers' lounge and had made herself some coffee after he'd declined the offer.<p>

"How can I help you, Detective?" she finally inquired, when they were both seated at the big table.

"What do you know about the incident in the park yesterday?" John asked her.

She frowned.

"What everyone knows. I heard about it in the news. They said a shot was fired from a rifle, but luckily nobody got hurt."

John nodded, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side.

"That's the official story." he said, vaguely. "Did you know your boyfriend picked up an injured dog yesterday - also in Central Park?"

"He told me about it, but that was a stray. It had no collar, license tag or microchip. Stephen assumed it was just another hungry dog that got shot trespassing on someone's property."

John kept his opinion to himself.

"Does that happen often?" he asked instead.

"Every ten seconds an animal is abused, Detective." she explained drily. "But I doubt that was what you wanted to know."

John had to resist getting angry. It wasn't as if he didn't feel the pain anymore. Sure, he wasn't a mistreated animal, he'd jumped in front of that bullet, but that didn't mean he had no compassion for any of the less fortunate pets. After all, he was one of their kind in a way too and had been one of their human counterparts on the streets for several months.

He swallowed and paused for a moment.

"Does your boyfriend pick up injured animals often? As far as I know, he's not with the AC&C or ASPCA."

"No, he's not." Elaine confirmed. She sounded annoyed. "Stephen loves animals, Detective. I'm sure he didn't mean to harm anyone or break any laws by helping that dog. Danielle - that's his own dog - kinda saved his life, and all he wants to do is give something back. To the animals and the people that have animals and need help. He's not cut out for the harsh truth of a shelter, but at the kennel he can take care of dogs for their owners when they can't."

"Did he report the incident?"

"I didn't ask, but he knows the rules very well, so I'm sure he did. Why does a random dog concern an NYPD Detective anyway?"

John looked away for a moment. It wasn't as if he could or would tell her the truth.

"Like I said, there might be more to the shooting, but I can't divulge any of that information. Were you aware that the dog he saved went missing from the kennel?"

It was Elaine's turn to pause.

"He got a call about it this morning. Dogs disappear on their owners every day. They are great escape artists. In this case, other stuff went also missing, so the local police treats it as a simple robbery. They said the dog was probably set loose to cause confusion."

John frowned. It did sound like the NYPD to go with the easiest possibility in such a case. It was still amazing though, that they hadn't caught on to the inconsistencies yet. However, if Finch was right, they couldn't have, because they hadn't even given it any thought, much less knew about the bigger picture.

"Did your boyfriend behave different recently? Or did his dog?"

Elaine looked at him for a moment, as if he'd lost his mind. Or maybe she just couldn't believe his interest in something that obviously didn't seem relevant.

"Stephen's his same old self. He works long hours, trains with his dog and has little time for other things." She explained, impatiently. "As for Danielle..."

John waited.

"She's always been easy to train, friendly and quiet. But Stephen told me he couldn't get her to stop barking when he found the injured dog. She also barked at his office last night for no apparent reason, while he was finishing up paperwork. I hope she's not getting sick or something. It's not like her to just bark randomly. She couldn't work at the kennel otherwise."

John thought for a moment.

"He trains for the Disc Dog Nationals with her?" he asked then.

Elaine shook her head in disbelief. "I'm not sure how that could help you, but yes."

John tried a smile. So far, they hadn't really gotten along. He wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong, though.

"Sorry," he explained. "I'm just curious. I heard from the AC&C guys that he came pretty close to winning last year."

The turned on charm seemed to help. Elaine relaxed and actually smiled back at him. Or maybe it was just the change of topic.

"Yes, he did." she stated, almost proudly. "There's two things he's obsessed with, Detective. Dogs and winning the USDDN Super Open Freestyle World Championship once."

* * *

><p>Finch was working on the video footage from the park once more, when Reese called him again.<p>

"Did you hear this, Finch?"

"Yes, Mr. Reese."

"She wasn't very forthcoming," the ex-operative summarized, "But she didn't sound like a person who buys a rifle and shoots an innocent animal. Elaine might not be as pet-loving as her boyfriend, but she seemed to care and sure has her facts straight."

Finch nodded to himself.

"I have to agree on that, although we've been wrong in our assumptions before." he told Reese.

"You do realize she's a public school teacher, right Finch? She should have been fingerprinted. And unless she cheated somehow, that means she would have popped up when the prints from the rifle were initially run."

He was right, of course.

Finch had thought of that too, but as there weren't any signs of tampering in her file with the NYSED, there was little he could actually do.

"I don't suppose you could acquire a reference sample, Mr. Reese, to clearly rule her out?" he said, before even thinking about it.

Reese chuckled.

"Your criminal energy is coming along quite nicely, Harold." he remarked, clearly amused. "I'll see what I can do - Lionel's up for being relieved of his watch at the safe house anyway. He can run it by the lab and I can find out if Kosuke knows something more about his competitor."

Finch pinched his nose for a moment, trying to alleviate his headache.

They were basically none the wiser, so it wasn't a bad idea to consult all possible sources. He didn't truly think the boy would be able to help them, but he did not have any better leads either. If nothing else, it would or wouldn't confirm the information they had accumulated so far.

"Very well, Mr. Reese." he therefore agreed. "I'll process the footage from the park again, to see if we missed something. There was video surveillance at the kennel, but coincidentally all the tapes from the evening of the shooting and the nightly robbery are missing."

"Of course." Reese declared, then paused. "Don't worry too much about the dog, Finch." he advised then, before hanging up.

Finch pressed the button to end the call as well, then leaned back in his chair for a moment.

They were missing a dog, a shooter and a solid lead. Keeping their focus was a good and well-meant suggestion, but how could he not 'worry' about the injured animal, when it was the only element connecting everyone and everything?

If only he had the missing piece to the puzzle.

**- to be continued -**


	6. Chapter 6

PART 6

John had expected something to happen at his arrival at the safe house. Getting nearly killed by Fusco hadn't been it, though.

"Thanks for the hearty welcome, Lionel." he remarked drily, handing the Cop's gun back.

The Detective was huffing and puffing, clearly unhappy about their struggle.

"You should have called." he simply stated, returning to the living room without further ado. "It's okay." he told the family. "False alarm."

When John followed him a moment later, everyone was there. Shelby was standing calmly besides Kosuke - she hadn't so much as barked once during the scuffle. Both parents looked doubtful, Kosuke himself seemed wary but not overly frightened.

Fusco made introductions of some sort. "This is John, he's trying to help you."

John shook hands with everyone, then offered the back of his hand to Shelby. She sniffed it in interest and happily yelped once, before he stroked her under the chin. She wagged her tail and crowded closer to him, enjoying the attention.

"I got a dog myself, a Belgian Malinois." he told Kosuke, when they sat down at the table. "You've met him already. His name is Bear."

The boy's eyes lit up at that piece of information.

"You're a friend of Harold?" he asked.

John smiled back at Kosuke. "Yes. I need your help with a few questions."

"Okay." the kid said, after looking at his parents for a moment. "But I already told the Detectives everything. Twice."

John nodded reassuringly.

"I know that. I'm not interested in what happened at the park yesterday." he explained, pulling a photograph from his pocket. "What can you tell me about this man?"

"His name is Carlyle, I think." Kosuke said, after looking at the image. "I kinda know him. He also competes in the Disc Dog Nationals. He's pretty good, especially for being an older guy. His dog is a very beautiful Rough Collie called Danielle."

John allowed himself a small smile. He obviously wasn't the only one that had noticed the beauty of Carlyle's dog.

"Is there anything special about them?" he asked.

"He's a loner, but usually polite. People say he's obsessed with winning, but as far as I could tell, he respects and recognizes talent in others. Shelby doesn't get along with his dog, though."

The boy wrinkled his nose.

"Danielle is a little Diva." he lowered his voice. "She's like a pretty girl, that knows and shows it, running around like she owns the world. Danielle's really picky about which dogs and people she likes."

John grinned. It was maybe not the objective view Finch expected, but it was a new piece of information.

"What kind of dog is she otherwise?" he questioned. "How are her manners, her training? Is she quiet or loud?"

Kosuke actually thought about that for a moment. From the movement of his eyes it was clear he was recalling memories.

"Aside from the showing off, she seemed like a well-trained dog to me. Very focused, very intelligent, but not always as motivated as her handler."

It felt wrong somehow to hear the boy use that word, but that was just because of his own associations. For a moment John had a flashback of Kara, his CIA handler, naming him 'Reese'. He pushed the memory away forcefully. She had never owned him, despite her mind games and their intimate relationship, but she'd come closer than anyone before her. After the first time they'd slept with each other, he'd therefore sworn to himself, that he'd never allow anyone to own him, ever, no matter what.

"Is there anything else that could help me?" John asked, focusing back on his work.

Kosuke hesitated and looked at his parents once more. They nodded and smiled encouragingly, but the boy only shook his head.

John took that as his cue to leave.

Outside in the hall, he handed the bagged and tagged coffee cup of the teacher over to Fusco. It should do pretty nicely for those reference prints Finch wanted. John was halfway out the door, when Fusco stopped him.

"Did you tell the kid he can compete tomorrow?" the Detective asked. He seemed nervous, but also concerned.

John shook his head. "I didn't." he stated calmly.

After all, he hadn't even *known* anything about a competition.

It was obviously not the answer Fusco had been looking for. The Detective took a deep breath, gearing up for a massive argument.

"I didn't know." John headed him off. "He didn't ask."

The big Detective practically deflated.

"He really cares about that contest." Fusco emphasized after a pause, showing an understanding that seemed only inherent to parents. "I think we should let him compete."

* * *

><p>On his way back to the library, John thought about the case.<p>

He had a bad feeling about it, especially considering that he knew more than Finch and still couldn't make head or tails of it.

And unfortunately it wasn't as if he could just tell his boss.

'I was a dog and Carlyle helped me get away from Central Park after I was shot.'

No. Not really. That wouldn't go well.

Sure, he could try to make something up, but there was nothing remotely believable he could say, without giving a totally wrong impression of Carlyle. The man had helped a wounded animal, not injured, kidnapped or threatened a human.

Hell, he couldn't even say Carlyle had helped him after he'd gotten injured in some other trouble, because it was clear the man had helped a dog. John wasn't anywhere in the video footage of the rescue.

Changing had been a bad idea to begin with.

As a young boy he had changed a lot, playing on his own in the forest, enjoying the freedom to switch back and forth, far away from prying eyes. But when he'd gotten older, those eyes had only gotten sharper. He'd stopped changing when he'd joined the military, afraid of what they might do to him if they found out, or what they might make *him* do. The CIA's surveillance of its agents had been even more meticulous, their knowledge of his meeting with Jessica at the airport had clearly proven that. Even if he had wanted to change during what little free time he'd had, it would have been utter suicide to do so.

And speaking of suicide, that hadn't really worked either.

After Jessica's death, after he'd dealt with Arndt, he'd fallen into that huge black hole. He'd taken to alcohol to numb the pain, to chase away the memories that haunted him. It had worked for a little while, but basically he'd done it just to have everything stop. But his 'curse' had unfortunately kept him alive on the streets too, even drowned in massive amounts of alcohol.

John had survived a lot of things, both in the military and during his time with the CIA, solely because of his supernatural makeup. He'd considered his powers a 'gift' for quite a while, had held onto them in his mind and dreams. But then on the streets he'd cursed them and had considered more efficient ways to kill himself. Dying through a silver weapon had been a difficult thing to achieve, though. He might have managed eventually, but at the time Finch had found him, his survival instinct had still been too strong.

Kara had often lectured him on them being the dark, had often tried to impose her thoughts on the subject onto him. She couldn't have known, that he'd had a totally different problem with the concept. That he had time and again considered the irony of having literally become a creature of darkness through the selfless act of trying to help a stranger.

According to legend, skinwalkers were usually 'born' when people committed murder as a way to gain power, many killing their family or close relatives, becoming truly evil. They were known to eat human hearts. So it was quite paradoxical that he'd turned bad trying to do good, and that with a gift given in compassion he'd brought so much pain and destruction to the world.

Sometimes John also couldn't help but wonder if Finch knew.

When he'd been shot by Snow's partner, he'd stayed conscious for almost two and a half hours and had endured fatal wounds, while Finch had organized money and help. With little pain medication and no sedative, he'd also been cognizant for most of the field surgery he'd received. And all the while he'd resisted the urge to move or fight against the restraints the Doctor had needed to place on him.

He could not have survived that without his powers.

The animal had rebelled inside him, had kept his heart pumping and the adrenaline running. It had growled and howled and barked in his mind, scratching at the boundaries of his consciousness, until everything had blurred together. Knowledge and instinct, physical and mental power, the biological and psychological need to survive.

His only source of amusement back then, had been the Doctor's sense of humor.

"Must be a full moon."

If only he'd known how close he'd come to the truth.

* * *

><p>Finch was working on yet another improvement to the analytic software, when Reese returned.<p>

"Finch." he was greeted. "Did you listen in?"

He hadn't. He'd been too preoccupied with the code in front of him and the mystery of their current case.

"No, Mr. Reese." he therefore replied, without even looking up.

If he could get the software to make a more accurate probability analysis, he might be able to find something. The results he'd gotten so far had been good at first glance, but hadn't helped really. He must have made a mistake somewhere.

Silence reigned for a moment, only broken by the greeting of Bear and the sound of Reese stroking the dogs fur quietly.

Eventually, Finch felt compelled to look up.

"I can't always keep track of your progress as well." he found himself saying, the annoyance more evident in his voice than he would have liked. He really hated to be interrupted in his thoughts.

Reese looked at him for a moment, then shrugged as if the brush off were meaningless.

"Kosuke told me that Carlyle is a loner, but that his dog Danielle likes showing off, acting like a Diva."

Finch raised his eyebrows at that. It clearly wasn't the objective type of report he would have liked to get.

In response, Reese held up his hands, as if in surrender.

"The boy's words, not mine." he defended himself, but Finch could see the gleam of a grin lighting his eyes.

"Anything else?" he couldn't help but ask drily.

Reese held onto the amusement for a moment longer, then visibly pulled himself together.

"For a quiet dog, Danielle has barked a lot in the last days." he remarked then, tone professional once more. "At the German Shepherd Carlyle rescued, at the office in the kennel for no apparent reason, at you..."

Finch thoughtfully cocked his head to the side, as much as his injury allowed.

"A pattern." he noted, half statement and half question.

"A severe change in behavior." Reese specified. "Dogs don't just decide to treat everyone and everything different. Something in her familiar surroundings must have changed."

"Or someone." Finch added, clearly understanding where his partners argument pointed.

Reese gave a small nod, then moved over to the glass divider to take another look at the photographs there.

"What about the fingerprints?" he wanted to know then.

Finch figured it was a good question indeed. So he pressed a button on the hands-free equipment and the phone came to life, dialing. It rang three times before it was picked up.

"Fusco." came over the speaker.

"Detective." Finch greeted. "We were wondering about the results of our reference prints."

"Of course." the grumpy Detective murmured under his breath. "I just got to the lab, you know." he stated then, louder.

"I don't have to remind you, Lionel" Reese took over, "That we need this information to keep the boy safe. Right?"

Finch resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the ever present tactic of intimidation between the two of them. Instead he input a few commands in his computer, satisfied with himself when the live security footage of the crime lab at the precinct came up.

Reese had moved around the table to look what he'd been doing, so they watched together as Fusco spoke into his cellphone, turned away from a tech at the table next to him.

"Yeah, sure." the Detective said, not overly excited. "I'll see what I can do. Call you when I got something."

With that Fusco hung up and turned back around to the CSU technician.

"Boss is riding my ass hard on this one." he remarked with a sigh. "Think you can process it right away?"

The technician looked unhappy, but before he could speak, Fusco continued.

"For now, I'll just need a comparison to two specific sets of prints."

That seemed to help, because the technician shrugged, murmured something they couldn't hear and went to cut the evidence bag open.

They watched in silence and Finch couldn't help but remember following some other footage eerily similar to this. Back then it had been Carter waiting for prints to be taken from a plastic cup. Back then, those had been Reese's prints.

It wasn't the same technician, but he was just as methodical, covering the coffee cup in black powder, before transferring the best print to a piece of clear adhesive. Then it was scanned and Fusco gave the names for the prints to match it against.

Finch found himself stiffen as the anticipation grew.

The one from Elaine Sumner's file with the Department of Education was a match.

The one from the rifle wasn't.

True to his word, Detective Fusco called in to inform them. It was a short conversation. When it was over, Finch cut the call and the video feed.

"This doesn't really prove anything." he stated quietly, reminding both of them that there were still too many questions. "As long as we don't have the results from the bullet comparison, this might as well mean nothing."

He took a deep breath then and pulled up a different video, as well as the files Carlyle had compiled on the unknown dog from the park.

"I did find something, though." Finch continued then. "Mr. Carlyle, our selfless dog rescuer, noted in his report that the German Shepherd had a high tolerance for sedatives."

This time it was Reese who raised his eyebrows at him.

"It's not totally uncommon." the ex-operative stated after a moment. "Both in humans and animals."

Of course.

Finch shouldn't have forgotten that Reese himself had a lot of experience with drugs, both as an unwilling recipient and in administering them. Additionally, he had a very good knowledge of them regarding the recovery from his widely varied injuries. Reese also, as Finch knew from the CIA's files, was known to have an unusual high tolerance for certain sedatives.

When Finch had stayed quiet for too long, Reese spoke up again.

"How much did he give him?"

Finch opened up Carlyle's report and the one from the veterinarian.

"Carlyle gave the dog five milliliter of Ketamine by intramuscular injection twice, before transferring him to the kennel. After that, Dr. Semenova administered eleven milligram Midazolam and fifteen milligram Butorphanol by IV to get a proper anesthesia."

Reese seemed displeased by the numbers.

"The Doc almost went to the maximum dosage, but Carlyle clearly went over that. I guess he doesn't have any medical training. Also, you said he injected the dog *twice* before bringing him to the kennel?"

Finch nodded, proud with his colleagues instincts. He himself had only found that piece of information, because of the meticulous report. He would never have made it out on the video otherwise. So Finch brought up the enlarged feed from the back of the van after Carlyle had lifted the German Shepherd onto it.

The syringe was visible, only half full at roughly the 5ml mark.

"Finch." Reese said after a moment, having recovered from seeing but not hearing the dogs whine at the pain of the injection. "Did you know that Ketamine is considered a date rape drug? Now, why did Carlyle carry that with him at the park?"

**- to be continued -**


	7. Chapter 7

PART 7

It wasn't just a contest, of course, it were the World Finals.

John had familiarized himself with the layout of the competition grounds and the rules during the night.

Now he was at the edge of the field, disguised for once not in his customary black suit, but in jeans and the colorful t-shirt of the event organizers.

Neither he, nor Finch or Bear could get within fifteen feet of Carlyle and Danielle, without the dog barking like mad. So he was keeping close to Kosuke now, with Finch and Bear on the bleachers near the Yoshiokas, while Fusco had gotten the job to shadow Carlyle.

John still wasn't convinced the guy was a sexual predator.

As opposed to the case with Megan Tillman and Benton, Carlyle didn't spell smug, charming and overly confident. But Finch had been quite adamant that his Machine didn't see accidents and that it looked mostly for lethal intent.

It had given them Leila's number too, though.

Still, Finch had insisted the Machine wouldn't have given them Kosuke's number to save the dog - to save Shelby - from getting kidnapped. Not even, he'd stressed, if Carlyle had truly intended to kill her.

Nothing in Shelby's medical files suggested an allergy to any sedative, but John knew Ketamine could be a dangerous drug. The dose needed to produce anesthesia in dogs was very near to that which caused seizures.

On the other hand, Ketamine was a common date rape drug as well, which also made it possible - if not really likely, in his opinion - that Carlyle could have been after the boy.

So, whilst they hadn't agreed on a theory, he and Finch had definitely agreed on pushing things by allowing Kosuke to compete.

It was late morning now and the grounds were full of simply dressed people of all ages, with and without dogs. The sun shone brightly and even Finch had been forced to forgo his usual three-piece suit, so as not to catch too much attention. Fusco on his part seemed oddly relaxed in his casual clothes, even surrounded by yelping, barking and a chorus of childish chatter and excited conversations.

On a second field the non-qualified and novice competitors would be holding their contests after the current World Final round, and for a moment John entertained the idea of joining. Bear wouldn't need any training for the 'Toss and Fetch' event. Even Finch would be able to participate in it with him, but with his injuries he would probably stand out too much. And if he himself were to compete and win, he would stand out too much as well.

After the first Freestyle round, Kosuke was just taking his place for the 'Toss and Fetch' competition, when Fusco reported Carlyle at the forty meter line, sans Danielle.

John had the strange feeling suddenly, that something would go wrong. But Shelby made the first two catches effortlessly, with eleven points. Then however, he saw her falter momentarily on the third catch and activated his ear-piece.

"Something's affecting Shelby."

It was all he could say, before on the next run, Shelby stumbled over her own legs. She tumbled, rolled, then came to a stop and tried to get up. She crashed down almost immediately again with a yelp though, and John ran towards her without a second thought, mirroring Kosuke. Mindful of his own injuries, he let the boy lift up his own dog, before ushering both of them towards the first-aid tent.

When he glanced back at the field, Carlyle was nowhere to be seen.

"Mr. Reese?" came the question through his ear-piece.

He ignored it for the time being, focused on the vet examining Shelby's eyes, taking her pulse and blood pressure. When the Doctor accidentally brushed her leg, the dog whined and John had a memory flash of an earlier occurrence.

"Something might have stung her a few minutes ago." he told the Doctor. "She kept scratching her right hind leg."

He could have cursed himself for not giving it any thought earlier. It had been just as Carlyle had passed them by, and he'd been too focused on Kosuke and his apparent adversary to have paid any attention to the dog.

It didn't take long for the vet however, to find and pull a small, black-feathered dart from Shelby's leg. The shaft had been well hidden in her long fur.

Furious with himself, John stepped outside the tent.

"The bastard drugged Shelby with a dart!" he all but snarled into the comm device.

He was angry with Finch too, for dismissing the possibility that Carlyle would hurt the dog. That the Machine would want to protect another living being, even if it wasn't a human.

"Where's Carlyle?" he demanded then, when he also couldn't see Fusco.

"Carter just arrived." the burly Detective answered instead. "I looked away for only a moment..."

John wanted to growl in anger.

"You let him give you the slip!" he spat instead, only to be interrupted by Finch.

Finch, who was his usual commanding self, told Fusco to keep an eye on Kosuke and Carter to take over watching the Yoshiokas. Then Finch all but ordered him to meet him underneath the bleachers.

So John went there, anger fueling his every step.

* * *

><p>Finch waited stiffly underneath the bleachers, with his back even straighter than usual and his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval.<p>

He could understand Reese's anger, could even accept it to a certain degree. He couldn't condone it, though.

Losing their tempers would get them nowhere.

When Reese came around the corner, Finch had to notice, that they were currently total opposites; calm determination in contrast to burning fury.

"For what it's worth," he stated, as the younger man drew closer, "The bullet from the unknown dog was a match to the rifle."

Reese stopped an arm's length away. Finch waited for him to speak, but his partner merely nodded.

"Carlyle carried an umbrella with him earlier, likely to fend off the sun. He didn't use it, however." Finch continued. "It could have been utilized to subdue the dog."

Reese raised an eyebrow at that.

"The Bulgarian umbrella, Finch?" he queried, drily. "That guy? Really?"

Finch relaxed his features, if only marginally. Reese seemed almost amused, though he didn't delude himself by believing everything was fine between them just yet. They might not get into an argument right now, but this was far from over.

"You tell me, Mr. Reese." he therefore requested, not unkindly.

"I guess it's possible." Reese said after a moment, his gaze eerily unfocused. Finch suspected his mind was more in the past than the present.

"They showed one can be built using an air pistol, a couple of years back on Discovery Channel."

Finch refrained from raising an eyebrow of his own at that piece of information. He'd learned better than to ask about certain things. So, instead, he held out Bear's leash, without a word.

When Reese finally accepted it, he took a plastic bag from his pocket. It contained a cloth handkerchief he'd carefully borrowed on his visit to Carlyle's office.

A predatory smile stole itself onto Reese's face, when Finch opened the bag and offered it to Bear to sniff. The dog did so without prompting, then looked at them for further instructions.

For a few seconds they just stared at each other.

Then Reese nodded, grabbed the leash tighter and spoke the command.

"Bear, zoek!"

* * *

><p>Bear was too well trained to lose their target.<p>

Even with dozens of other dogs and hundreds of people around, he followed his nose unerringly. He led John over half the grounds, backtracking a couple of times. But he never hesitated and didn't let anything distract him, not even some free dog food on offer from a company out to get new customers.

John knew that, as a military dog, he'd been trained not to accept food from anyone but his handler. Eventually he must have taken food from the thugs that had killed his master, but John had made sure to reinforce Bear's original training. He wouldn't eat anything, unless he or Finch gave it to him, or unless either of them allowed him to eat it.

After less than ten minutes, Bear barked once and sat down at the entrance of a tent.

For a moment, John contemplated unclipping the leash and he also contemplated taking out his gun, but in the end decided against both. Carlyle wouldn't be a danger with his umbrella gun, as long as they stayed out of his immediate reach. The thing was only effective in close proximity.

John cautiously stepped through the tent flaps with Bear.

It was a big tent, with various separate cubicles off to the right, apparently a changing area of some kind. Only one of the cubicles was occupied and from the rustling of clothes John figured he'd picked a bad moment for Carlyle. In his former career, he would immediately have taken advantage of that opening to subdue or kill his opponent, but a lot had changed since then.

"It's over, Carlyle." he announced instead.

The sounds stopped for a moment, then resumed. John figured the man was getting dressed to see who'd found him, so he waited patiently.

When the curtain was finally pushed aside, though, Bear immediately started barking like mad.

Carlyle was aiming a gun at them and from the way he was holding it, John could see that he had definitely some training in handling it. It wasn't something he'd expected.

"Mr. Reese?" came the worried question from his ear-piece.

John would naturally have answered, but didn't think it wise to tip his hand right then. He'd already underestimated his opponent gravely. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

"It's over." he repeated instead, after ordering Bear to be quiet. "You just made sure you'll never compete again."

Carlyle snorted derisively. He eyed the dog for a moment, then focused back on John.

"You bring a dog to a gunfight?" he asked, ignoring the message he'd been given. "But then, what else I am supposed to expect from some sport people? What is he? An agility champion?"

John refrained from snorting derisively himself.

Other perpetrators would have targeted the dog immediately, perceiving it as a threat. But Carlyle didn't and everything they'd learned about him so far suggested he wouldn't harm the animal. John wasn't so sure about his own chances however, especially when Carlyle lifted the gun.

"Bear, Stellen!" he commanded, before things could go farther out of hand.

Bear jumped immediately and sunk his teeth into Carlyle's arm. The man screamed in pain and let go of his gun. It didn't take long until Carlyle was on the ground, the dog still hanging onto him.

John took the gun, then ordered Bear to back off, but gave him the command to guard their prey.

"Mr. Reese? Reese? John?"

Finch's voice in his ear was getting frantic, and he hastened to ensure that they were okay. Then he turned back to Carlyle, who was still lying where Bear had left him, clutching his bleeding arm.

**- to be continued -**


	8. Chapter 8

PART 8

Finch let out a breath he hadn't been conscious of holding.

He shouldn't really have been that scared for his partner, but he couldn't help it. Whenever Reese was injured, Finch got anxious. The usual odds were then suddenly more evenly apportioned and the margin for error was likewise greater.

He didn't like it.

Never had.

Especially not since Reese had almost died at the hands of some CIA sniper.

The sounds coming from his ear-piece suggested Reese was pacing. He was probably making circles around Carlyle's position on the ground, just to unnerve the man.

"Actually, he's a former military dog." Reese said after a moment, in that threatening calm tone of his. "He's trained to kill, as am I."

Finch heard their perpetrator gasp.

"I don't know you! I've never seen you before! What the hell do you want from me?" Carlyle asked in panic. "I didn't do anything!"

A pause followed, in which Finch could clearly hear the sounds of a magazine being ejected from a gun. He'd involuntarily listened to it countless times at the library, when Reese had cleaned his arsenal during respites in the succession of numbers. He could almost see the other man now, easily checking the count of bullets before loading and cocking the weapon again.

"Yet you pointed this gun at me." Reese stated coldly. "If I were you, I would come clean."

Finch hadn't really taken Carlyle for the stupid kind, but like most small criminals, he also seemed to think that lying would get him out of the trouble he'd gotten himself into.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he insisted.

Sounds of sudden movement were followed by a startled cry and a growl from Bear. For a moment there was a noise that sounded like fingers searching for purchase on fabric, before a thump stopped that. Finch could imagine Reese at the other man's throat, not unlike the time Reese had had him pinned against the wall of that hotel room at the beginning of their partnership.

"I don't care about your attempt to manipulate the Championship." Reese whispered angrily. "And I don't care about what you would have done with the money. I only care about the boy!"

Finch could hear both men's heavy breathing over the line. Carlyle's pulse was up because he was terrified, Reese's was up because he was beyond livid.

"What were you going to do to him?" Reese demanded. "Drug him up and take him on a road trip with you? Fuck him in the back of the van or some cheap motel off the interstate until you grow tired of him? And then what?"

Each sentence had been punctuated by another thud, as if Reese were smashing Carlyle into the ground repeatedly. Finch could do nothing but listen, mouth open in shock.

"Were you planning on putting a bullet in his head?" Reese asked menacingly. "Or maybe you were going to strangle him with your own hands, so you could see the light leave his eyes?"

Finch had realized moments ago that things had gotten out of hand, but he'd been too astonished to react. The possibility of Carlyle being after Kosuke had been his theory, not Reese's. Yet, right now, Reese was in some tent, forcefully driving that point home, when only minutes ago he'd still been positive that Carlyle hadn't been after Kosuke. It didn't make sense.

"I didn't do anything to the boy! I swear, I never would!" Carlyle all but whimpered. "I just wanted a chance to win. I just wanted his dog unable to compete for a little while. Just long enough for the Championship to be over."

"And what about the shot at the park?" Reese all but snarled. "Did you hire someone to injure the kid, so you wouldn't have to drug the dog?"

"Please, no! No! I had nothing to do with that!"

Carlyle was sobbing now. "Please... Please, don't kill me." His voice was shaking.

The sound of another thud could be heard, then footsteps, a tent flap opening and a whistle.

After that, the line went dead.

Finch knew he should have done something. Should have at least tried to reign his partner in. But he'd simply been too afraid.

He knew very well, that the display of violent anger he'd just been privy to, hadn't really been aimed at Carlyle alone. That it had originally been directed mostly at him, although Reese hadn't expressed it earlier when they'd met.

Finch had pushed, and as it seemed he hadn't just pushed too far, but he'd also been totally wrong.

He'd known how protective Reese was whenever kids were involved. Maybe he should have kept his theory to himself. Maybe he should have voiced it, but shouldn't have rejected other possibilities quite so harshly.

But it was too late for that now.

The only question that remained was, what he should - or rather could - do now.

* * *

><p>John took Bear to the closest unoccupied stretch of lawn.<p>

There he petted and praised him, and threw a stick for him to fetch as a reward for his obedience.

All the while though, he kept pondering his own - far from stellar - behavior.

Carlyle had proven him right in the end, but that was no justification for what he'd done.

First, he had let his personal experience of being rescued at the park cloud his judgment. Second, he had let his canine instincts play havoc on his focus when Shelby had fallen prey to the sedative. And third, he had lashed out viciously when he'd thought he'd been fooled and had aimed all his anger - toward himself, Finch, Fusco, the shooter and the world in general - at Carlyle.

The man had no doubt deserved a piece of his mind, but he clearly hadn't deserved what he'd gotten.

With a heavy heart John called Carter and told her where she could find Shelby's attacker.

He was grateful that neither of the Detectives had been able to listen in on him losing it. He'd thoughtfully cut the connection earlier, when he'd gone to confront Finch. John had expected a fight then, but like most often that hadn't happened. They hardly ever got into each other's faces and if they did, they were usually miles from each other and just a button away from cutting the connection.

They had both done that plenty of times before and he'd also done that only minutes ago. Avoiding the confrontation was easier than getting into it. And it was certainly much easier than getting out of a confrontation unscathed later.

Finch had known how much he despised people targeting kids. Yet, he still hadn't held back his theory. It had been a clear sign of trust and professionalism and John knew he'd just gone and thrown that in Finch's face in the worst way possible. He just didn't know how to fix it.

The sudden urge to shift was strong.

It would have been a coward's move to disguise himself, though. Choosing a form in which Finch couldn't recognize him in, wouldn't resolve their conflict. Also, the man was already suspicious of him having left his clothes behind once, another time would not be helping matters either. And additionally, it would somehow taint his most recent change, if he did it now simply to hide.

He had meant it - both times - when he'd told Finch he was happy all those weeks ago. And he'd been happy the other day as well. So happy and eager and content, that he'd been itching for the freedom he remembered of his childhood days. He'd been so grateful for a nice evening, friends and a good job, that - for the first time in years - he'd wanted to change. After watching too many dog competition videos on his phone - while keeping an eye on Kosuke in school - he'd yearned to be part of the fun, if only for a little while.

And he'd been, right until the shot.

He'd done his job, had saved the boy, gladly paying the price of a new wound. It had been a lucky shot though. He'd basically been neglecting his duty by changing, no matter how much he could justify it by saying it had gotten him close enough to Kosuke to protect him.

So no, he couldn't change now.

There was work to be done, and he would do it. He would apologize to Finch, he would protect Kosuke and he would get the shooter - eventually.

Forcing his breathing to calm and his voice to steady, John activated his ear-piece.

"Finch?"

* * *

><p>When all was said and done, everything always came down to two things, Finch mused.<p>

Trust and doing what needed to be done.

Somehow those essentials had become the foundation for his and Reese's purpose, creating a partnership that worked better than he'd ever anticipated and was more fulfilling than he could possibly have hoped for.

Clearly, one false step couldn't set them back too far.  
>Or could it?<p>

They had both made mistakes regarding their work before, regarding the numbers. They had misjudged, misread or misinterpreted things, had over- or underestimated people. For each one of those mistakes, they had paid a price. Some of those 'costs' had been hefty, when they'd lost a number. Others had taken a toll on themselves, mostly in the form of injuries on Reese's part and on financial or material losses on Finch's part.

Some of the mistakes had also led to disagreements between them, like saving Elias or calling the same man in an attempt to rescue Leila. They'd also often argued about Reese's tendencies to go to extreme lengths in order to help kids, parents or soldiers.

Strangely enough, few of their differences had ever been specifically about or between themselves, though. The notable exception was the debacle of the Karen Garner case on Reese's birthday. Finch had promised he would never lie to Reese, but he had done so that day - aside from various other evasive answers and obfuscations since they'd met.

That had been one of the few times ever, that he'd truly been scared of the man.

It also was one of the precedents for Reese taking out a big portion of his deep-seated anger on someone who deserved it for another crime.

This day would have been no different, if they hadn't been wrong. If *he* hadn't been wrong.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

After a quick look around the first-aid tent, into which the rest of them had retreated after Reese's call to Carter, Finch stepped out the back.

Trying to steady his shaking hand, he answered the call.

"Yes, Mr. Reese?"

A pause followed, too long for comfort.

"I'm sorry, Harold." the younger man finally stated. "I screwed up." He sounded exhausted, bordering on defeated - likely emotionally drained from his earlier outburst of anger and his guilt about it.

"I'm sorry too, John." Finch found himself saying, before his ingrained paranoia could stop him from being honest. "I shouldn't have settled for the most obvious scenario. I shouldn't have dismissed other possibilities. I should have..."

He was babbling again and knew it, but couldn't stop.

"It's okay, Finch." Reese interrupted him softly, calmly. "We were both wrong."

Finch took a deep breath. He wanted to argue that it was clearly not 'okay', but couldn't find the words.

The pause that followed was as long as the one earlier, but it didn't feel uncomfortable anymore.

"I'm on my way back to you." Reese continued then, reporting as usual. "Carter's taking care of Carlyle - is everyone all right?"

It was obviously back to business.

"Yes, everyone's fine." Finch told him. "The competition was resumed, but the judges haven't decided on a course of action regarding Kosuke and Shelby yet. We also got a situation of sorts."

"What kind of situation?"

Finch could almost hear the alarm in the question.

"Some fellow contestants are outside the tent, being held back by Detective Fusco. Apparently they feel strongly about what happened and wanted to show their support. As we are none the wiser regarding the shooter, I thought it prudent not to let anyone get near the boy."

"Good thinking, Finch." Reese commented, and this time there was even a hint of amusement in his voice.

Finch could hear voices in the background over the line. Reese was likely drawing closer to the main field again.

"Bear, zoek Harold!"

He could hear it both, over the comm-link and faintly close by. The next moment Bear came around the corner of the tent, dragging his empty leash with him, tail wagging happily. The dog sat down in front of him and barked once.

Finch couldn't help but huff in faint amusement, even as he heard Reese inquire about everyone's well-being inside the tent.

"Very good, Bear." Finch praised the animal, scratching its ears affectionately. "You found me. Now, let's go see to Mr. Reese."

**- to be continued -**


	9. Chapter 9

PART 9

John had kept a close eye on everyone coming to pay Kosuke and Shelby a visit.

There had been dozen of handshakes and slaps on the back, even a couple of hugs for Kosuke and almost as many pats and ear rubs for the totally oblivious Shelby.

Halfway through the proceedings though, John had gotten unsettled.

Something one of the other contestants had said, kept replaying in his mind since then.

"I left Towser with Maggie for the moment."

It had made him realize he'd missed something important earlier.

Finally, when the last well-wishes had been delivered and he was just about to leave to follow up on his suspicion, another person entered the first-aid tent.

"Need a hand, Jay?" the woman asked, teasingly, with a hint of a Russian accent.

John furrowed his brow when he saw recognition, not only on the veterinarians face, but also on Finch's.

"The Cops, the AC&C and a private bodyguard?" she remarked then, obviously amused. "I didn't know the sport was that popular yet."

"Natalya, " the vet - Jay - greeted back, friendly but without rising to the bait. "Great timing. I was just about to let them call you out. I could eat a horse."

They laughed, but John didn't take his eyes off them, as Jay briefed his colleague on what had happened to Shelby and then introduced her to the Yoshiokas and Detective Fusco.

Apparently, her name was Natalya Semenova, which explained Finch's recognition. They had already checked her out, as she was the veterinarian on call at Carlyle's kennel - the one who'd recently patched him up. Not in her background had been the info though, that she worked part-time as a volunteer vet during the Championship.

Her presence might just be an unusual coincidence, but John wasn't going to take any chances with that.

So he took Fusco and Finch aside, and instructed them to keep a close eye on her and anything she might do to either Shelby or Kosuke. He also whispered a quiet command to Bear, making sure he would protect Finch if things happened to escalate in his absence.

Then he went to leave.

"And what will you do?" Fusco yelled after him, almost petulantly.

"See a man about a dog." John explained, grinning broadly before he stepped outside.

* * *

><p>"Mister Reese?" Finch inquired, after quite a while.<p>

He'd debated the pros and cons of activating the ear-piece for long minutes beforehand.

"What is it, Finch?"

Reese sounded calm, unhurried. Very likely he was not in a fight then, not in any trouble.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Actually, I found more than I was looking for." Reese told him, slightly amused, "Carter brought the file with the DNA analysis of the blood they found on the rifle. Apparently our perp is not in the system, but her brother sure is. Tyrel Jones, 39. He's quite a charmer. Got convictions for burglary, robbery, possession of stolen goods and aggravated assault."

Finch sighed. That didn't bode well for what their shooter would be like.

"I see." he remarked. "So, who's the woman we are likely going to have to deal with?"

"Sheryl Jones, 31. The police suspected her of working with her brother, but they could never prove it. She was questioned many times about her brother's handiwork and various other break-ins that never got solved. Up until three years ago. They went to interview her and she had vanished, from one day to the next. Nothing at their apartment was missing. The police thinks she left everything behind and ran."

"Was any evidence found indicating her involvement in the robberies?" Finch wanted to know.

He couldn't quite see her just leaving otherwise. She'd been well used to dealing with the police, after all.

"No, nothing." Reese explained. "Her brother went to prison and she just disappeared."

Finch found himself frowning. This case was getting more and more convoluted, the farther they advanced in their attempts to solve it.

"She could be in witness protection." he pointed out. "Maybe they had evidence on her after all and she traded her brother's freedom for her own?"

Reese snorted.

"There's no indication of that, Finch. And even if, why should she suddenly go after a boy and his dog? The machine wouldn't have given us Kosuke's number if he'd been a randomly picked target, wouldn't it?"

Once more, Finch couldn't help but sigh.

"No, it wouldn't." he confirmed drily.

Of course it wouldn't. It couldn't *see* accidents. It couldn't predict unplanned or totally illogical actions. If the attack had been random, the machine might have given them the woman's number instead to prevent someone getting hurt. But clearly it hadn't. For whatever reasons.

Logic therefore dictated, that Kosuke had always been the intended target - and still was.

"I'll see if I can track down Miss Jones." he found himself suggesting. "In the meantime, it would probably be wise if you were to stay with Kosuke, Mr. Reese."

"I will. But first I'll have to take care of something else."

Finch froze.

Not that it was uncommon that Reese had other side projects, but they usually came second to the lives of the numbers, not first.

"And what exactly would that be, Mr. Reese?" Finch inquired, coldly.

It grated on him, that unlike usually, they had disagreed about a good many of things in the last two days. And the complexity and difficulties of their current case didn't help matters.

"I'm going to find Danielle, Finch. I think she might know our shooter. And hopefully she can lead me to her - save us some time."

Finch swallowed his surprise.

"I don't think cornering the animal is a good idea, Mr. Reese." he found himself saying, to hide his lapse. "She seemed unexpectedly hostile towards us, after all."

Reese sighed at the other end of the line.

"I know, Finch. I'm sure it isn't a good idea, but I don't see any alternative."

Finch let the silence stretch for a moment.

He wasn't about to delude himself. If Reese wanted to go after their shooter using the dog, he would do it. And nothing short of a life-threatening injury would hold him back. Finch could try to order him to stay with Kosuke instead, but as it were, their bond had been tested enough recently. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he would try to hold Reese back now. The determination in the younger man's voice had been absolute. This was something nobody would be able to talk him out of.

Finch shuddered at the recollection of John cutting the connection to 'take care' of Jennings.

He'd give a lot for that to never happen again, ever.

"Very well." he therefore eventually replied, clearly unhappy but resigned. "But do be careful, Mr. Reese."

* * *

><p>It took some questions and directions, but eventually John found the volunteer Carlyle had entrusted his dog to.<p>

The young man seemed more than suspicious, considering Danielle had started barking as soon as he'd gotten anywhere near them. Detective Stills's badge and an assurance that Carlyle wouldn't sue him, did the trick though.

John took Danielle back to the changing tent he'd also faced Carlyle in earlier. It was both a psychological and a strategic decision. The scent of her masters blood on the ground was still fresh, so it prompted the Rough Collie to bark louder and to tug on the leash more violently.

John made a point to ignore it and tied her to one of the tent poles. Then he went to sit in the opposite corner and tuned her out some more.

It took quite a bit of patience, multiple showings of Stills's gold shield and him repeatedly claiming 'police business' to redirect potential users of the changing cubicles as well as to shut up numerous complaints.

Eventually however, it all paid off.

The incessant barking stopped, when Danielle had exhausted herself and laid down. Almost like a kid in a tantrum crying itself to sleep, John couldn't help but muse. He waited for another minute after that, then put a couple of clothes, which he'd burrowed from one of the lockers, in front of her.

Part of him felt stupid about the gesture, but something in his blood told him it was the right thing to do.

He was about to give her some privacy, when she surprised him by changing, right in front of him. The collar and leash fell off her, her limbs became longer and the fur retreated. John caught a glimpse of a nasty scar down her right leg, before he turned away.

"I'm decent." she announced after a while, her voice rough due to all the barking.

When John turned back, he found himself facing a beautiful African-American woman, with unbelievable long, dark and well-cut hair.

"Hello Sheryl." he greeted her softly and for a moment it looked as if she would start crying.

She didn't, though. Instead she reached out a hand towards his side, but stopped short of actually touching him.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." she explained. "I didn't mean to hurt any of our brothers and sisters."

John could see the truth in her eyes, could hear the emotions in her abused voice. She wasn't lying, but her words still hurt in a totally different way. Another life wasted to dark thoughts and emotions, to a curse no-one could understand.

"But you were going to hurt or kill the boy." he stated, unwilling to keep the coldness from his tone.

Sheryl jerked her hand back, as if burned.

John almost expected her to make a run for it, to give in to the instinct to flee. But, in her defense, she didn't.

"Yes."

She was crossing her arms, though. Distancing herself from what she'd almost done and from him.

"Did you ever kill anyone?" he asked her then, realizing only after he'd spoken, that it wasn't simply a rhetorical question with her. Just because he had never shifted to rip out someone's heart and eat it, didn't mean she never had.

The realization was like ice water down his spine.

Sheryl snorted and looked at him in a way he couldn't quite read.

"I'm less like them and more like you." she said eventually, nervously picking at the hem of the unfamiliar t-shirt. The jeans were too long for her and she'd rolled their legs up multiple times, to keep them over her bare feet.

"Until that day at the park, I never hurt anyone. Not before and not after I got changed. It was just me and my brother, and we weren't even a pack. He doesn't know."

John nodded, although that part was news to him.

"Why?" he softly asked eventually, because there truly wasn't anything else he needed to figure out.

Sheryl looked at him unhappily, but her features turned angry fast.

"I couldn't take it anymore!" she spat, then. "Stephen was turning into my brother and I just couldn't take it anymore. After our parents died, Tyrel got custody for me and he always pushed for us to break in somewhere to 'support' ourselves. I didn't mind at first. We had to live off something, after all. But it got out of control. He kept pushing for us to do more jobs, bigger jobs, more dangerous and lucrative heists. I did more in an attempt to pick up some of his load, because he got caught now and then, but it didn't help. He only ended up doing as many jobs as I did. He promised we'd be done soon, but he always wanted more."

She snorted again.

"I never got caught, because I changed. I established myself in the neighborhoods as a shy but harmless stray. But even as a dog, I couldn't fool the better security systems. On my last job I almost got locked into a house. I made it out, without the haul, but only because I changed back. My leg got caught in an automatically closing gate."

John winced internally.

It must have been hell on her. As a matter of fact, it was a wonder she could walk without a limp, could compete in the Freestyle Championship.

"Carlyle took me in. I was only an injured stay, after all." Sheryl continued then. "He was very ill himself, so I guess he could relate. He probably figured he could help some other creature out, even if he couldn't help himself. But him caring for me gave him strength too. We both healed. It was a miracle, I'll forever be grateful for."

"But then things changed." John interjected.

She nodded.

"Playing Frisbee at the park was much needed fun and exercise for both of us. But then he got involved in the USDDN's competitions and got obsessed about the Championship. He kept pushing, just like Tyrel used to push. And I couldn't do it. I knew I wasn't good enough, would never be good enough to beat that boy and his dog."

"So you decided to injure or kill him, instead of leaving or turning against the real source of your problem."

She hung her head in shame.

"Yes. I couldn't turn against Stephen. Never could. I owe him everything. He's the first person since my parents that ever really cared for me - I thought... Hell, I thought that if I just got rid of our obstacle to success, everything would go back to how it was before. We would go back to just playing at the park, taking walks together, being happy about being alive. He promised."

John sighed, both saddened and angry.

**- to be continued -**


	10. Chapter 10

PART 10

Finch was frustrated.

He'd gotten his laptop from the car, but so far hadn't been able to find a single trace of Miss Jones.

Just like Reese had explained earlier, she had vanished from one day to the next. Since then, there had been no money withdrawals from her bank account, no transfers and no credit card usages. Her cellphone had been left at the apartment, but it hadn't been activated since that day either.

No-one had seen her again. The police had checked and double-checked.

All of Finch's own attempts at locating her through social media had yielded no results either.

Therefore the news that Kosuke and Shelby would be allowed to repeat their 'Toss and Fetch' round the following day, was a welcome relief. They would be able to participate in the rest of the competition, almost as if the attempt at manipulation hadn't happened.

"Finch?"

He startled for a moment at the voice coming over the ear-piece.

It was Carter.

Fusco was still keeping an eye on their Russian veterinarian, but so far the woman hadn't made a single threatening move or given any indication of an ulterior motive. She'd just been talking to Kosuke and his parents to pass the time, sharing stories about her own dog and some highlights of the competition prior to Kosuke taking part in it.

"Detective?" Finch inquired, cautiously.

"Carlyle confessed to the robbery at the boarding kennel." she explained. "I just thought you might like to know."

Finch couldn't help but frown at that information. Not that it was unlikely, but somehow it felt strange, albeit feelings and logic should best not be mixed or confused.

"He did?" he therefore asked, trying to keep his disbelieve to a minimum.

Carter still heard it and snorted in amusement.

"He said that at first he just wanted to take the Ketamine, but that he was afraid it would be too suspicious. So he scratched the locks a bit and took all the other things to make it look like a robbery by an outsider. He also considered it a good idea to use the injured German Shepherd as a diversion."

Finch made a noncommittal sound, which she obviously took for a request to continue.

"The story about his dog barking was probably just a ruse too, so nobody would even think about suspecting him."

Finch had to agree, that it sounded like a viable theory.

"What did he do with all the possessions he had no use for?" he asked after a moment.

"Said he's going to show us where he stashed them. But I bet, even if we return them to the people, his boss won't be too happy about it. In addition to the larceny charge, he's probably going to lose his job."

Finch huffed.

"It's only fair, Detective." he pointed out. "With the drugs alone, he could have done a lot more damage than he did."

With that, Finch ended the call.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful, or that he blamed Detective Carter. Far from it. But his own mistake still irked him. The list of the stolen drugs read like half of a veterinarian's medicine cabinet. Carlyle could certainly have done a lot of damage with that, if he'd been so inclined.

They'd truly been lucky he'd only decided to sedate the dog.

* * *

><p>"And you believed him?" John asked, accusingly.<p>

People lied. Everyone lied. He knew that probably better than most.

His mind was also busy with the similarities, though. Both between Sheryl's brother and her new handler, but also between them. He owed Finch his life, multiple times over as well. But Finch couldn't understand the whole thing. He hadn't been able to understand his behavior recently, because he wasn't aware of John's biggest secret. And it had gotten them very close to an emotional fall-out. Much too close in John's opinion.

"I don't know." Sheryl replied, almost meekly. "Not that it matters now, anyway."

Carlyle would likely never compete again. He'd made sure of that himself with his assault on Shelby. But John realized that wasn't quite what she'd meant, as he became aware of how close she'd moved to him and how her entire body language had changed. She was looking at the ground submissively and had turned her head to expose her vulnerable neck.

This wasn't the 'pretty girl that knows and shows it', as Kosuke had described her canine alter ego. As a matter of fact, she hadn't been like that at all since she'd changed for him.

The implications hit him like a bolt of lightning. He wanted to run, to flee. Everything in him screamed - different, opposing instincts warring for attention.

"No!" he growled, clenching his teeth and hands to keep himself from moving forward or backing off.

He would not let her turn him into a real monster. Would not let her undo Finch's work of the past year and a half. He would not return to the shadow of a human being he had been. Certainly not for her.

"I won't bite you! And I won't kill you!" he told her angrily. "We are *not* a pack! I already have a pack."

He hadn't known he would say any of that until he had. He hadn't even ever thought about it. But he instinctively knew it was true. He had a pack. Finch and Bear and Carter and Fusco, maybe even Zoe and Leon. Heck, most of the numbers were part of who he was now. They all were his responsibility. They all were his to protect.

Sheryl whimpered and sunk to her knees in front of him.

It was probably as close to begging as she would go. For John it was pure torture.

"Do it!" she suddenly said, looking up at him defiantly. "It's your role, it's your freaking duty!"

And damn, she was right. In more ways than just one, actually.

If he were her pack leader, it'd be his job to keep his pack mates in line. To punish them, or even kill them for their transgressions. But they weren't a pack.

Still, it was kinda his duty to put her in her place. The Machine and Finch had entrusted Kosuke's life to him, which made the boy part of John's pack. And another responsibility of a pack leader was protecting its own. So it was his job to make sure she could never hurt Kosuke - or anyone else for that matter - ever again.

However, they were also of one kind. Kindred spirits, connected by the same curse. Outcasts in both, the shadowy wold of the creatures and in human society. Two supernatural beings without a real taste for blood. Two old dogs without anybody to turn to with their deepest, darkest secret.

He couldn't kill her.

If after all he'd done, he had deserved a second chance, so did she.

* * *

><p>Finch locked his computer at the library and pushed the keyboard away, but didn't get up immediately.<p>

Instead he stared at his own reflection in the blank screens.

They'd finished the case.

Carlyle had been arrested, John had taken care of the shooter and Kosuke and Shelby had won the Freestyle Championship.

As a bonus, Reese had been able to learn how to professionally throw a disc for Bear and Kosuke had insisted he should also learn.

Finch smiled slightly.

Not that he would admit it, but it had been immensely enjoyable.

He looked at Bear for a moment and patted him when he sat up in response.

It had done them all some good to just relax after the danger and confusion of the last days and all the disagreements and misunderstandings they'd had.

Yet, Finch still felt bothered somehow.

He trusted Reese when he said he'd taken care of the threat and he'd learned early in their partnership not to ask for a specific 'how' in certain situations. He did not need or want to know. That it had been done, was all that mattered.

Too much loose ends however, had defined that case. Too many things had been left unexplained.

He'd made a list in his mind.

1. Why had Reese left all his possessions behind at the park?  
>2. How had Reese gotten injured at the park?<br>3. Where had the German Shepherd disappeared to?  
>4. Why had Carlyle also stolen a car at the kennel?<br>5. Why had Reese never been specifically interested in the German Shepherd's whereabouts?

He was sure there were probably even more things he'd missed, but he was too tired.

Both physically and emotionally.

"Let's go, Bear." he therefore said. "Let's get your leash and go home."

But that new list stayed with him, even as he turned off the lights, locked up and walked down the street.

Finch was more sure than ever, that he was still missing a vital piece of the puzzle.

**- to be continued -**


	11. Chapter 11

PART 11

Almost two weeks had passed since they'd resolved Kosuke's number. And, as the machine never stopped, there'd been many other people that had needed their help - or that they'd needed to hinder in their plans.

John sat at his desk at the loft, bathed in the soft lighting of the various lamps. On the brown tabletop of expensive wood in front of him, stood three plain black jewelry boxes. They contained specially designed orders he'd arranged for himself, yet he hesitated to open them.

Only a few days ago he'd found out by chance, that Finch was still looking for the German Shepherd from the park.

It shouldn't have bothered him. He'd already made his choice, had already made his plan.

Yet somehow, part of him had always worked under the assumption that Finch knew. That he'd just been waiting for him to acknowledge it. So, being confronted with the clear evidence that Finch wasn't aware, was kinda sobering.

John checked the middle sized box first.

It contained two small, inconspicuous tags made of stainless steel, engraved with a QR code. John set them aside.

He paused next, after opening the biggest box.

Inside were two identical necklaces, made of round stitched black nappa leather cords. They were thin and smooth when he picked them up, but his hands prickled at the contact nonetheless. Hidden within the soft material, as per his instructions, were simple chains of pure silver.

He'd done his research, back when he'd been a bit older. When the ability to shift had stopped simply being a cool secret, some kind of game. Back when the urge to roam and be part of a pack had first begun to take hold of him. He'd read everything about shifting creatures he'd been able to get his hands on, both fictional and supposedly non-fictional. His mother and the librarian had shrugged it off as a 'phase', his father couldn't have cared less because he'd been deployed most of the time anyway.

Methods to incapacitate or kill werewolves, shapeshifters and skinwalkers had numerously come up in those 'stories'. Not all of them had proven to be true, of course. Silver however was very effective. Direct contact irritated the skin and the pain and damage could range from a mild sunburn up to a 4th degree burn. Invasive injuries with silver bullets or knifes hurt like hell, healed very slowly and could leave nasty scars. What he hadn't been able to confirm, but believed without reservations was, that a silver bullet or knife through the head or heart could kill him.

As for other things, he hadn't known about 'Iridium' being a problem, until Finch had gotten him some rare and ridiculously expensive cufflinks for yet another 'rich guy' routine. He'd been happy to hand them back immediately afterwards and had made sure not to expose his wrists until the burns had healed.

Silver didn't affect his ability to change, but it also didn't just 'fall off' during a shift. That had been the major point in his choice for a necklace he could also wear as his canine alter ego. A normal collar was impossible for multiple reasons. He couldn't put it on himself after the change, and also didn't have anyone who knew his secret and could do it for him. Most importantly though, he couldn't stand the thought of *letting* anyone put a collar on him.

Kara had named him and treated him like a pet, but he'd never been her's - despite their intimate relationship. Various of his worst enemies had had him chained or caged up multiple times, yet they'd never been able to tame or contain him. Finch might get all the legal paperwork and ownership documents for his German Shepherd alias eventually, but John drew the line at letting his boss and friend leash him.

The necklace would be sturdy enough to provide identification in the form of an official license tag, a microchip registry tag, his own pet ID tag with a QR code or all of those. It was especially designed not to restrain him, however. It was too thin to withstand pressure. If someone would try to leash him or grip it to control him, he could easily break the 'jewelry'.

Additionally, the design of the tag was rather plain on purpose, so as not to draw too much attention. He would be able to wear it as either of his human aliases. When being searched or having to go through a metal detector, it would likely be regarded as a mere accessory. Granted, a slightly unusual one, but nothing suspicious.

That it also reminded him of the good old military dog tags - and a time before the CIA had had him in their clutches - was an added bonus.

With slightly shaking hands, John put one of the QR code tags on each of the necklaces, then pulled one over his head and hid it under his shirt. The other one he laid back in the box and put it into the closet with the weapons for safekeeping.

He returned to the desk for the last and tiniest box.

It held something he'd considered and re-considered over most of the last week: A passive RFID pet chip and the corresponding registry tag.

John contemplated it for a long moment, then shoved the small box into his jacket pocket and also took the special first aid kit he'd acquired for the occasion. He would go to one of his old haunts - some random run-down motel - to take care of the injection and to check the fit of the necklace in his animal form.

He couldn't do that at the loft. Not as long as Finch didn't know.

* * *

><p>Finch followed the winding path into Central Park, with Bear and Reese at his side.<p>

Bear was at his left, almost - but luckily only almost - pulling at his leash in excitement. Reese on his right was the polar opposite, shortening his stride to match Finch's limping gait.

They walked in companionable silence.

The bench he had chosen was partially obscured, but still had a direct line of sight to the lawn. After they'd sat down, he let Bear off his leash to 'go play'.

From their vantage point they could observe Carlyle nearby, throwing a Frisbee for Danielle.

"You knew they'd be here." Reese remarked after a few moments, nodding towards the pair.

It was a statement, so Finch refrained from any attempt at answering it. He couldn't stop his lips from twitching, though. Their current situation had - of course - been intentional.

"You might be interested in how the trial went." he explained. "The jury found Mr. Carlyle guilty of grand larceny in the 3rd degree and sentenced him to two years of probation. Furthermore, the USDDN banned him from participating in their competitions, but even beyond that he'll likely stay clear of any other dog sport events, no matter the organizer."

Reese looked at him, an eyebrow raised inquiringly.

"He will?"

Finch couldn't help but huff. He clearly saw through his partner's attempts at appearing clueless.

"The terms of his probation are very curious." he played along, nonetheless. "They include a prohibition regarding participation in any kind of public dog sport event. In addition to that, he has mandatory dog handler training, psychiatrist appointments for himself and recurring medical and psychological screenings for Danielle."

This time Reese nodded. When he turned to Finch, the older man could clearly see they were done pretending.

"He wasn't mistreating her in the classical sense." Reese explained, quietly. "But he trained too much, pushed her too hard, expected too much."

The younger man paused, anger sparking in his eyes.

"She was very close to snapping, Finch. She could have attacked him or anyone else!" Reese said forcefully, voice rough with fury. "We already knew she was sick when Carlyle took her in from the streets, only she wasn't 'sick', she'd been injured severely. Dr. Fielding said it's a miracle she walks without impairment and that it's downright amazing how well she does in Freestyle despite it."

Reese's voice had softened towards the end, hinting at the animal's pain he obviously empathized with.

Not for the first time, Finch wondered if they were having a conversation in a conversation. If they were talking about themselves as much as about Carlyle and Danielle.

Hadn't he pushed Reese continuously since they'd met, number after number, without so much as a break unless the younger man absolutely hadn't been able to go on anymore? Hadn't he and didn't he always demand the ex-operatives very best, no matter the odds and circumstances? Was that what had happened between them lately? That John had nearly snapped, because it was all too much?

People didn't usually intend for themselves to fail. Setting someone solely up for success however, practically meant inviting defeat. And unfortunately, that was what he'd done. Or at least, what it seemed he'd done, because it hadn't been intentional. He'd surely never expected for them to be perfect, had never expected John to be invincible.

So, had he just imagined a new secrecy between them, because he'd misread the warning signs of a major breakdown?

"Dr. Fielding and Judge Gates were more than happy in helping to get him special conditions for the probation, as he couldn't be charged directly for animal cruelty." Reese continued, apparently oblivious to the path of Finch's musings.

"I didn't do it to spite Carlyle." he added then, obviously having misinterpreted Finch's look.

"I know that, Mr. Reese." Finch assured him. "And I understand."

He paused, let his eyes roam over their surroundings and all the other dog owners with their pets.

"Danielle has shown no averse reactions to Bear or me recently," he shared then, knowing full well that it meant exposing the fact that he'd been keeping an eye on them. "So I guess it must be working. And, as you had her quietly on a leash at the competition, Mr. Reese, I think it's safe to assume she's also past barking frantically at you for no reason."

Reese snorted, but it wasn't in amusement.

"I'm still not sure if she barked to get our attention or if she somehow realized we could find out about her situation and somehow wanted to alert Carlyle of the danger." he admitted.

Finch turned to his partner as best as he could on the bench.

"Does it matter?" he inquired in earnest.

Reese looked at him quietly for a long moment, as if assessing his intentions.

"Maybe." he answered eventually with a shrug, attempting to appear unconcerned, but failing miserably.

When the younger man whistled for Bear and ruffled the Malinois fur, it was in a way that suggested he'd been more upset by their conversation than he'd let on.

Finch was suddenly afraid his musings might be right.

**- to be continued -**


	12. Chapter 12

PART 12

John had wrapped up their latest number less than an hour ago.

Since then he'd returned to the library, had briefed Finch and together they had shredded every picture and piece of information they'd had on the glass. The lost numbers still had their board, an always present reminder of the cost of their mistakes. The living numbers however only existed in their minds - for safety's sake.

Sometimes John regretted the fact, that they had no visible proof of their successes. It was a fleeting and irrational longing though, like wanting to keep Leila. He knew they could never allow themselves that luxury. It would mean endangering the very people they meant to protect and therefore - in extension - everything they did.

John rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relax.

He'd practically been prowling through the stacks, but knew it had nothing to do with their work. He was anxious about something else, about a tiny slip of paper in his pocket with the pet chip ID and his QR code on it. The very proof of his canine alter ago.

Finch had meanwhile seen his necklace countless times, while changing his bandages. So far, the older man's only reaction to the unusual jewelry had been a raised eyebrow, which John had studiously ignored. Sooner or later, Finch would undoubtedly put two and two together, though. Because, whilst John hadn't advertised the QR code on the tag, he was sure his boss had gotten enough glimpses to recognize it.

John had been trained to consider all eventualities and usually he didn't mind. This time however, he hated the list of worst case scenarios. Finch could be hunter of supernatural creatures, but that was highly unlikely given his aversion to weapons. He could also be so afraid he would disappear. That would be the smart thing to do, but seeing as Finch had not even feared him when he'd been a volatile drunk, it was also not likely. And, last but not least, Finch could be so disguested about literally working with an animal, that he'd be willing to hand him over to the police or CIA. The latter was maybe not very likely, but still possible.

The best thing John figured he could hope for, was acceptance. Finch had plucked him off the streets, despite knowing about all the terrible things he'd done for the Army and the CIA in the name of his country. Maybe he'd be willing to accept one more harsh truth about him.

John turned abruptly and approached Finch's desk. A lot of things could be said about him, but certainly not that he was or had ever been a coward. There was no reason to start behaving like one now. Still he hesitated long enough, so that the older man stopped typing and looked up at him inquiringly.

"I need a favor, Finch."

"I already told you Mr. Reese," Finch replied drily, "That if you'd like a raise, all you had to do was ask."

John's brow immediately furrowed in mild annoyance.

"I don't..." he started to protest, but then stopped. Slowly a small grin stole itself onto his features. The mischievous gleam in Finch's eyes told him he'd just been riled up on purpose. What a sly dog.

"Why don't you take a few days off, Mr. Reese." Finch continued, before he could retort. "Take Bear, go somewhere nice for the weekend."

John looked at his partner and friend for a long moment, but the man was definitely not joking anymore.

"Go where?" he found himself asking, incredulously. "And what about the numbers?"

Finch graced him with that hard, impatient look of his that clearly stated he was not impressed.

"Anywhere, Mr. Reese. I'm sure the Detectives and I will be able to handle the numbers on our own for a few days."

A vacation? Finch had never proclaimed a vacation or down-time before, not even after he'd nearly died from two bullets courtesy of his ex-colleagues from the CIA.

"I don't need more money or a vacation."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Reese."

John growled before he could reign himself in.

The next moment he'd stepped back and had turned away, staring a hole into the wall, trying to get himself to calm back down.

Finch was right, of course. They could probably both use some time to rest and recuperate. First however, he had to finish what he'd started.

When he'd caught his breath and had calmed down enough, he faced Finch again.

"What if I told you, that I found the German Shepherd from the park?" he asked cautiously, changing his strategy.

Finch's eyes turned curious immediately.

"I'd say you're obviously a force to reckon with in tracking."

John smiled inwardly at the older man's way of saying 'you did better than me'. Then he took the piece of paper out of his pocket and put it on the desk between Finch's hands, along with an SD-card.

The older man frowned and the expression only deepened when he took in the QR code.

"I need a background for him." John explained, before Finch could ask any questions. "His name is 'Shack'. He's a purebred German Shepherd. I'll need the whole deal: Pedigree papers, education, a work history in security, previous owners, pet registry, insurance and medical history."

Finch nodded. John figured it wouldn't be too difficult a task, considering he'd already done it once for Bear.

"With your contact information?" Finch simply wanted to know.

"No, with yours."

And with that, John turned and all but fled the library.

* * *

><p>Finch sat on a bench in the park, seemingly waiting patiently.<p>

His mind was in turmoil though, and he was more nervous than when he'd first decided to talk to Grace.

Bear was romping around on the lawn. Finch had brought a ball for him and some Frisbees, as per Reese's request. Apparently Shack liked fetching them and he was supposed to meet the dog - for real this time.

He'd created the background and had studied the pictures of the animal for quite a while. He'd also made sure that the brand new pet chip got backdated appropriately and the database was equipped with the necessary information. The most intriguing thing however, had been the QR code.

Finch had spent a good deal of time on that one, as the string of digits it had revealed hadn't been any known number for registry or insurance, neither for humans nor for animals. In the end, it had turned out that Reese had triple-encrypted the date of the first time they'd met, a day he seemingly considered a second birthday of sorts.

It was an interesting choice for a personalized dog tag inscription. Also, it was even more curious that John's latest acquisition of jewelry had the same thing engraved on it.

A bark from Bear startled Finch.

The usually very restrained ex-military dog was yelping happily, jumping around the German Shepherd that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The dogs greeted each other and then, without being prompted, came over to the bench. Both animals sat down in front of him expectantly.

Finch felt tongue-tied all of a sudden.

"Hello, Shack." he said eventually, awkwardly. He offered the back of his hand for the dog to sniff, imitating what he'd seen Kosuke do when he'd first approached Bear.

The dog wasn't wearing a usual collar, but rather some thin leather band. It took him a moment to realize, but it looked exactly like Reese's necklace. As a matter of fact, it even had a seemingly identical tag on it.

Finch hesitated.

The dog, probably sensing his mood-shift, had gotten up and actually moved a few steps back, as if to evade him. So Finch reached out slowly and only for the tag, to turn it so that he could read the engraving.

It held a QR code that looked suspiciously like the one on Reese's necklace.

And suddenly, everything fell into place, almost miraculously. Reese's apparent absence at the park, the similar injury patterns, the car that had been stolen in the kennel robbery, even how Reese had known about Danielle being unable to cope with Carlyle's expectations.

"John?" he asked tentatively, trying to read anything in the canine's eyes.

The dog woofed once, then nudged his leg, nervous energy coiled in the lithe body. The dog's obvious focus were the discs Finch had put down on the bench besides him, along with the ball. When he reached out for them, the German Shepherd woofed again, as if in agreement.

Finch knew that there were many unanswered questions. There was so much he wanted to ask Reese, so much he needed to know. But right now, there were the discs and the dog and a man who'd become his best friend. The questions could wait until later.

Finch stood and threw the first Frisbee.

And so, just like Kosuke had weeks ago, Finch ended up entertaining the dogs.

His body protested almost immediately. One highly energetic dog was a force to reckon with, two were simply too much. But despite his aching leg and back, he couldn't help looking at them with something akin to pride and an uncharacteristically wide smile. Bear and Shack happily chased the discs and each other, returning to him every so often to keep him engaged in their play.

Finch wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve that trust. He wasn't even sure he did deserve it, actually. He knew however, as clearly as he'd ever known anything, that he would do whatever it would take not to betray that trust - ever.

"Thank you, Mr. Reese." he whispered into the wind.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a woof in reply.

**-END-**

* * *

><p><strong>End notes:<strong>  
>I apologize to all the people and animals I burrowed names from. This is in no way supposed to be related to them. The story and all characters depicted in here are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Furthermore, I have certainly taken creative liberties with this. I did my research as best as I could, but that does not make me a doctor, a veterinarian, a dog owner, an ex-soldier, a rich computer geek or a USDDN champion. So, thanks for going easy on me. If you did find a grievous error in my depictions though, that you think I should correct, please don't hesitate to contact me.<br>Also, a shout-out to those who caught the "Supernatural" references in here. The "Lucky" one was very intentional as a nod to the ep that helped inspire this, namely "6x08 - All Dogs Go to Heaven". The other reference was entirely unintentional. You might remember "Tessa" the Reaper, who was in quite some episodes throughout multiple "Supernatural" seasons.  
>And, last but not least, I have to admit that this story was born more out of spite, than anything at first. I just can't understand why many of the women on the show (Kara, Root, Shaw) wereare so intent on belittling John. They treated him like nothing more than a mindless tool, a mere henchman, calling him a poorly socialized guard dog. So I thought one day, 'why not?'. John would make a great dog! *g*


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